


Sweet Company

by grape_juice_boobs



Category: The 100 (TV), clexa - Fandom
Genre: Clarke's head over heels, Dapper Lexa, F/F, Lexa is ultra wealthy and way too generous, artist!Clarke, cute and funny, hotel au, i think i accidentally wrote a reincarnation fic, lexa's a sucker for grand gestures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:51:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grape_juice_boobs/pseuds/grape_juice_boobs
Summary: The one where Clarke's a concierge at the posh Polis hotel where Lexa is a resident.





	1. Chapter 1

“Clarke, I swear to god if you don’t hurry up we’re going to be late on your first day of work! How’s that going to reflect on me since I was your reference?” Raven Reyes and Clarke Griffin were already running ten minutes behind. After having missed the first train from their apartment, now Clarke was busy smelling the flowers at the market Raven is so desperately trying to rush them past. 

“Oh settle down, it’s not like the socialites and CEOs staying at Polis won’t get the pampering they deserve.” Raven yanks on Clarke’s arm to pull her away. “Ugh, yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

“Now remember, Mr Blake will be expecting you to meet him by the HR office right away. He’ll give you a tour and then send you to the uniform room to get fitted and suited up. You’ll probably train with Octavia for a week or so, and then you’re on your own. You met her, right? At my birthday? Anyway, you’ll love her, she’s our best Concierge. All the residents love her, and she gives us all the dirt on crazy guests.”

“Yeah, I think I remember her, but hold up, crazy guests? Like what?” Clarke doesn’t know whether to be excited or scared. She’s never worked in a hotel before, much less a five-star luxury hotel. “Aren’t rich people supposed to be all civil and proper?”

“Uh no. Rich does not equal nice or smart. Last week we had someone say their room was haunted and demanded all their money back. I mean come on, The Polis is a brand new hotel, it’s only three years old. What fun would haunting a three year old building be?” Raven had worked at The Polis Hotel since before it opened. Other than her boss Lincoln, she was the senior Maintenance Engineer on the property. She would know if it was haunted. “One time we had a guest get drunk in the bar, couldn’t figure out how to use the elevator, then strip down naked, and I mean all the way naked. Then he proceeded to streak through the lobby and head back to the bar. Rich people can be crazy and think they can get away with anything. You’re going to have to deal with a lot of entitled people asking you move heaven and earth for them to get front row seats at the opera. Or find them a vegan, organic mineral water from the mountains of Chile or some shit like that.”

“Great, you got me a job sucking up to crazy, rich people. Thanks Raven, I’m making you buy my chapstick from now on. Sounds like I’ll be doing lot of ass kissing.”

“Hey, it’s better than nothing, which is what you had before. Student loans don’t pay themselves back. Trust me, I know from experience.”

“I suppose you’re right, but if I get fired for biting a rich bitch’s head off, I apologize in advance. To you, not the rich bitch.”

“Thanks, Clarke, that’s really comforting,” says Raven with a not-so-subtle hint of sarcasm.

The friends had left their shared apartment in Bethesda and caught the Metrorail into the heart of DC, just blocks from The White House. Their 15 minute ride to Farragut North Station left them only 6 blocks from work, another 10 minute walk headed west.

Clarke and Raven are buzzed into the employee entrance around the back of The Polis Hotel by security. It’s a 300 room, 13-story hotel with the top 5 floors being luxury condos. Located in downtown Washington DC, athletes, celebrities, business executives, heirs, and politicians were its most frequent guests. And with the price of its rooms, they were the only people who could afford to stay there.

“Good luck,” Raven pats Clarke’s shoulder, “HR is just down the hallway, third door on the right.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll need it.”

// 

As far as first days of work go, Clarke wouldn’t consider hers to have been particularly wonderful, but it wasn’t entirely horrible either. It wasn’t as glamorous as she imagined, but she’s pretty sure she saw Ellen Page walk to the guest elevators. Though if you were to ask her, she “can neither confirm nor deny” the identity of any guest, as Octavia taught her.

And Raven was right about Octavia, Clarke was loving her already. She was great with guests, smiling through her teeth at every request, but once the guest walked away Clarke could tell she didn’t take herself too seriously.

The tour of the property was a bit overwhelming though. The ‘back of the house’ area was a complete maze. She could tell the guest areas were designed with the utmost attention but then the architect just squeezed the employee work areas in whatever corners they could find. That was probably true of all hotels, Clarke thought.

The exception was the gourmet kitchen for their restaurant, The Ground. The kitchen was massive, with glinting stainless steel. The chefs wore tall white hats and had foreign accents, it was the real deal. All local, farm fresh organic ingredients; the restaurant was trendy and renowned. 

Clarke found it quite interesting how everything functioned within the hotel. She had only ever been a guest at a hotel and never thought about all the moving pieces it needed to run. And for The Polis Hotel to be five-stars, it needed to be a fine tuned machine.

What Clarke did not find interesting was her uniform. The no-iron, water resistant, wrinkle defiant poly-blend fabric was stiff, itchy, and grotesquely unstylish. Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad, it did look professional, but her mandatory cerulean chiffon scarf was nearly choking her. Not exactly how a newly graduated art student saw herself just a few short months ago. 

// 

Over the next several days Clarke shadowed Octavia. She was quick to realize a concierge’s job was to make people's dreams come true, spare no expense (while charging it to their room), and have their every whim materialize out of thin air.

Luckily, Clarke had grown up in the DC area all her life. She knew the city like the back of her hand. Her parents, though not terribly wealthy, made sure Clarke was well-travelled and cultured. She could bullshit with the best of these pompous show offs.

Octavia taught her the golden rules of hospitality. Say the guests name as often as possible (it makes them feel special), thank them for staying (surely the hotel would cease to exist without that one guest), and always, always have a smile on your face no matter what (god forbid you’re an actual human with genuine emotions). 

By the end of her first week, Clarke was practically on her own having shown Mr Blake she could handle herself. Octavia was even impressed. 

On Tuesday afternoon, Clarke’s “Friday”, she saw _her_. She didn’t know who it was, but damn if she didn’t need to catch her breath afterwards. 

Clarke had just walked a guest out to the front of the hotel, ready to show them the way down the block towards the Lincoln Memorial, when a vintage convertible pulled up. It was the single sexiest car she had ever seen, but Clarke was not prepared for the woman who got out of it. She had long, dark wavy hair, a striped v-neck shirt under an open gray blazer. The sleeves of her blazer and the cuffs of her skinny navy pants were rolled. Ankles exposed, revealing brown leather brogues. 

The stunning woman leaned over the car to the passenger seat and pulled out a leather duffle bag, Gucci, most likely. Tossing her keys to the eagerly waiting valet, hair blowing in the wind, she flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head and looked directly at Clarke. _Holy shit! Is this happening in slow motion?_ A small smile (and was that a wink??), was enough to make Clarke’s knees weak. 

“Um, hello! Like, where am I supposed to go?” Clarke was startled out of her trance by a 15 year old, probably heiress, impatiently waiting for directions. 

Shaking her head out of a daze, “Uh, yeah sorry Miss, just head south about 8 blocks. Right down there,” pointing. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the shuttle?”

“Gross, no,” the teen hissed, not bothering to look up from her iPhone. “I need to kill time in this boring ass city. You said I’ll walk through George Washington University campus right? Maybe I’ll pick up a frat boy along the way!”

“Alright then. Have fun and be safe.” After the girl turned to walk away, Clarke gave her an annoyed two fingered salute (in her mind, of course).

She took that as her cue to slip back into the hotel to catch one last glimpse of the mystery woman before she lost her. She looked towards the guest elevators, just past the front desk but couldn’t see her. Scanning the lobby, she found her on the opposite side about to disappear through another set of elevators. Clarke had never used those elevators; they were for residents to get to the top floors. Did this woman live here?

She speed walked over to Octavia who was just finishing with a guest.

“Who was that goddess that just went up to the condos?”

“What are you talking about? I was busy getting tickets for that elderly couple to the Smithsonian,” Octavia explained. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, a lot of the restaurants and attractions in the city give us kickbacks for sending people there.”

“Forget that, I’m interested in the attraction that just winked at me. Who was she? Vintage car, otherworldly hot? Does she live here?”

“Ohhhh, I know who you’re talking about! That’s Ms Woods. She’s got the two story penthouse. She’s easily our richest resident.”

“Richest resident? So she’s a complete asshole then, right?”

“Actually, no, she’s one of the decent ones. She’s kind of a mystery though. She rarely asks for anything other than valet and the occasional restaurant reservation. I’ve maybe spoken to her five times in the last year. Very generous though. She always gives the whole front office team gifts for Christmas. Last year it was iPads. The year before everyone got tickets to see Wicked.”

“Oh, wow. That seems oddly nice of her, considering.” 

“Yeah. It’s weird though, she never uses our services and hardly talks to anyone but showers us with gifts. She’s always nice though, just… quiet. Not that I’m complaining. These people can afford to open their wallets to us lowly hospitality industry servants. One of the perks, I guess. 95% of the people that come through here come off as arrogant bastards, but the other 5% can be pretty awesome.” 

“Hmmm…”

“Don’t get any ideas Clarke; I can see the lust in your eyes! No fraternizing with the guests or residents. Mr Blake will fire you on the spot.”

//

“So how did your first week go,” Raven asked, genuinely curious. Luckily they were on the same schedule this week and had their ‘weekend’ off together at their apartment. It was going to take Clarke a while to get used to working such an ever-changing schedule. Sometimes starting at 7am, the next day at 3pm. She’ll probably never get an actual Saturday and Sunday off ever again. “Seems like they haven’t fired you yet but you haven’t told me any stories either. What’s the weirdest request you’ve gotten?”

“No… I haven’t been fired yet. And so far no crazies, just impatient people. Like, sorry, I can’t just call the president and ask him not to take the motorcade out because it’s slowing your commute, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, give it time; you’ll end up with some interesting stories.”

“Actually something amazing did happen. I saw an angel yesterday. We made eye contact and I’m pretty sure she winked at me. She wants me… bad.”

“Oh yeah, Octavia told me you were asking about Ms Woods. Don’t waste your time, Clarke, she’s way out of your league. Not to mention there’s no fraterniz-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know! No banging the residents. I get it. A girl can dream though.”

“Okay, keep it in your pants, Clarke. And wipe your chin, you’re drooling.”

“I am not! Well, maybe I was when I saw her. I probably looked like an idiot. The brat I was with practically had to wave her hand in front of my face to get my attention back.”

“Just don’t be stupid. She’s one of the good ones.”

“I’m not going to do anything, Raven. I probably won’t even be able to formulate words in her presence anyway. Besides, Octavia told me she never comes to the desk. I’ll just have to admire her from across the lobby.”

Clarke spent the rest of her days off devising ways to get Ms Woods’ attention. Either way, Clarke was drawn to her. She needed to get to know her.

//

Clarke was blessed with a consistent schedule her second week. All 7am start times. As barely awake as she was, it didn’t take long for her to spot Ms Woods. Standing at the concierge desk, Clarke saw her through the windows as she jogged up to the front of the hotel. She was decked in black tank top and cropped workout pants with a galaxy design on them. She had stopped to stretch near the entryway. A bellman was right there to hand her a towel monogrammed with a scripty ‘P’ and a bottle of designer water, Polis standards. She accepted the towel and water with a smile and a little chit chat that had them both laughing. She walked through the lobby, dabbing the sweat from her forehead and draped the towel over her shoulders. It wasn’t until she was stood waiting for the resident elevators that she glanced at the concierge desk. Clarke was caught staring and quickly tried to make herself look busy, almost cartoonishly shuffling papers in her attempt. She dared to look back a second later and saw Ms Woods grinning before stepping onto the elevator, disappearing behind the ornate doors.

_Smooth, Clarke, real smooth._

Day two of Clarke’s work week she again witnessed Ms Woods jog up, stretch, get her towel and water, and head to the elevator. This time though, Clarke was busy with a guest and couldn’t focus her attention where she wanted it.

Day three she had a light bulb moment. She would get to work just a few minutes early so she could get settled and be the one to hand Ms Woods her towel and water. But she waited and waited and Ms Woods never came. She didn’t see her at all that day.

Day four, Clarke was determined and was there waiting again for Ms Woods, just in case. This time her efforts paid off, today was the day she would meet the mysterious Ms Woods. Clarke was there, designer water in one hand and luxuriant towel in the other as she came through the automatic doors.

“Good morning Ms Woods, lovely day for a jog,” Clarke greeted, handing her the items. 

“Thank you, Clarke,” the jogger said with a smile. “You must be new here.” It was not a question.

“Yeah, it’s my second week. Wait, how did you know my name?” Clarke asked partly confused and a little hopeful. Had Ms Woods asked about her?

Clarke saw Ms Woods smirk and raise an eyebrow, nodding her head down towards Clarke’s name tag.

“Oh, duh,” Clarke’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. _Get it together Griffin!_ “I didn’t see you come in from your jog yesterday.”

“Well, _Clarke_ , it was raining, quite heavily actually. I ran on the treadmill instead. Keeping tabs on me new girl?” Ms Woods quipped. 

“NO!” Clarke shrieked a little too loudly; she must have been red as a fire hydrant at this point, “no, I was just, uh...”

The brunette laughed, “I’m just teasing you Clarke; it was nice to meet you. I’ll be seeing you, new girl.”

Clarke watched as she turned away to head toward the elevator. Then she turned around and face-palmed herself not realizing Ms Woods had looked back at her. She saw the whole thing.

The blonde walked back over to the concierge desk to find Octavia mock applauding her. “Well done, Clarke. Great first impression. Truly.”

“Yeah, now she thinks I’m some sort of stalker.” Clarke spent the rest of the morning shaking her head at herself. 

Day five, Clarke was undeterred. She was set on meeting Ms Woods again as she came in from her jog, but as luck would have it, she was busy with a guest. Ms Woods did not look over.

Clarke was just finishing up giving a young entrepreneur information about the National Mall, when she spotted the person standing behind him. It was Ms Woods, patiently waiting and looking out the window, hands folded in front of her, sunglasses clasped in one hand and a scarf hanging over her wrist. She completely forgot what she was telling the man, needing a moment to clear her head and get back on track. _Christ Clarke, focus! She’s gonna notice!_

She was able to conjure up some intelligent sounding facts about the Reflecting Pool (Were they even true?) before sending the man on his way. As the space in front of the desk opened up, Ms Woods looked over and met Clarke’s eyes.

“Good afternoon Ms Woods, how may I assist you?” _Good, Clarke. Professional, calm, relaxed. Don’t blow it._

Ms Woods leaned onto the elbow high desk and handed over a FedEx envelope. “Hello Clarke, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to add this to your outgoing mail?” Clarke immediately noticed it was addressed to someone in Paris.

With a smile, “It would be my pleasure, Ms Woods. Anything else I can help you with?”

Licking her lips, “That’s all for now, Clarke, but I’ll be sure to let you know.” Ms Woods gave a smile (and was that another wink?!) as she turned away, pushing herself away from the desk. 

She sauntered over to the valet, clearly asking for her vehicle to be brought around, and then leaned on a chair to wait halfway across the lobby. Her ass on the back of the chair and her feet kicked out a bit, crossed at the ankle. She busied herself with her cell phone while she waited. Clarke was watching her the whole time. Out of the corner of her eye, of course. She was wearing a neatly pressed white button up with the sleeves rolled just before her elbows and the top two buttons undone, a wrist cuffed with an expensive looking solid black watch. Her gray flecked slacks we perfectly tailored and paired with black shoes. Just before her car was brought up, Ms Woods looked back at her, dragging a hand through her hair. This time Clarke played it cool and gave an easy smile back, locking her blue eyes with Ms Woods’ piercing greens. The valet came in to let her know her car was there and off she went, scarf forgotten on the back of the chair. 

Clarke practically ran over to the chair to grab the scarf but before she could get out to the driveway, Ms Woods was pulling away. Damn that was a nice car (and oddly familiar).

Clarke was left clutching the charcoal scarf with signature Burberry checks. Did she leave the scarf on purpose? _Oh my god, did she?_

//

Clarke impatiently waited for her to return, the scarf neatly folded at the concierge desk, and a crick in her neck from continuously craning to look out the window. There were only 20 minutes left of her shift and Ms Woods had not come back yet. This was too good an opportunity to speak to her again for her to have to leave it with another concierge or have a bellman leave it by her front door.

Those 20 minutes moved slower than molasses in February, which is to say excruciatingly slow. As Clarke was straightening her desk to leave, the vintage Jaguar pulled into the front driveway. And just then, two screaming kids and their father approached her. _Shit._

It took 10 minutes to get them out of her hair and by then Ms Woods was long gone, up the elevator. There was only one thing left to do - hand deliver the scarf to the penthouse on the thirteenth floor. _Mission accepted._

Clarke slipped away from the desk before she could be interrupted again and practically sprinted to the locker room. Should she change out of her uniform or keep it on? Better keep it on, might send too strong of a message to go up there dressed too casually.

Clarke smoothed her hair and scanned for pimples. Were her hands getting sweaty? Confident she looks fairly decent, cute even, she tweaks the chiffon scarf of her uniform to the side and searches for the service elevator to take her to the top floor. 

She had never been on the residential floors, but she quickly realized the hallways were just as grand as the rest of the hotel - modern, sleek, sophisticated. She could only imagine what the actual units looked like.

There were only two on the thirteenth floor, one on each side. _Shit, which one was hers?_

Clarke cautiously walked down the hallway, making as little noise as possible. She leaned her ear toward the first door. She couldn’t hear anything and leaned a little closer. The door swung open. A man in a business suit was bending down to pick up his briefcase and luckily didn’t see Clarke nearly fall directly into the condo. She was able to catch herself on the wall and stand up straight. 

The man did of course notice her on his way out and gave her a baffled look. Clarke just gave a tight smile and a quick nod, “Good afternoon sir.” Before he could respond she started walking toward the other end of the hall, fairly certain she could rule out his unit being the one Ms Woods lived in.

She walked slow enough that the man entered the residential elevator ahead of her by the time she got to the other door, not wanting an audience. When she got to the second door she leaned in again for a sign of life. She heard music, jazz if she wasn’t mistaken. Miles Davis, maybe? Oh yeah, this is definitely the place. 

She straightens her uniform one last time, taking a few deep breaths and wiping her sweaty palms on the back of her pants. _Just fucking do it Clarke!_

Clarke raps her knuckles on the door. *knock, knock, knock* Another deep breath, exhaling and looking down, eyes clenched. Soon the door opens and Ms Woods appears. Clarke looks up and is nearly speechless looking the woman up from toe to head. Ms Woods is standing there, one arm leaning on the door frame just above her head, the other hand half in her pocket. Unmistakable jazz playing behind her.

“Well hello Clarke, fancy seeing you here.”

“Good afternoon Ms Woods,” Clarke regains her composure and keeps her chin high in an attempt to exude confidence. “You left your scarf in the lobby earlier and I wanted to make sure it was returned safely.” Clarke tries to take a peek at the penthouse behind the woman but the door was only slightly ajar with Ms Woods blocking the entry way. 

“Thank you, I completely forgot. It was warmer today that I thought it would be. What great service.” Was she mocking Clarke? How could she forget about the scarf? It had to be worth $500.

“Yes well, I’m here to serve,” Clarke says leaning in slightly, maybe too suggestively.

Ms Woods tittered, “Well, you’re doing a great job. How do you like it so far?” 

“Oh, it’s not too bad. Haven’t had too many run-ins with crazy rich people yet. Uh, I mean…” _Oh my god, Clarke, did you just insinuate rich people were crazy to an actual rich person you’re trying to flirt with?_

Ms Woods laughs. “It’s alright, I know what you mean. Money does things to people. Makes them think their shit doesn’t stink.”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest...”

“It’s okay, I promise.” _Change the damn subject Clarke!_

“So… isn’t it bad luck to be on the 13th floor of a hotel?” _Nice recovery!_

“Well, lucky for me my unit is on the 12th and 13th floors. And technically I’m not in the hotel so the ghosts can’t get me,” Ms Woods jokes with a cocked smile.

“I suppose you’re right, but if you feel any bumps in the night, who ya gonna call? I have a direct line to the Ghostbusters. Concierge secret,” Clarke quips with a wink and a salute.

Ms Woods laughs again, “I see what you did there, I love movie references. Maybe I’ll give you a tour and you can inspect it yourself sometime. I actually have to get going, though. I have a conference call in a few minutes, duty calls.” Ms Woods says nodding over her shoulder.

“Alright, I’d like that,” _Did Ms Woods just invite her to come back to see her penthouse? Alone? Just the two of them? In her penthouse?_ “Good luck with the call. Make good acquisitions or investments or whatever.”

“Thanks for the advice Clarke, I think I will. And thanks again for rescuing my scarf,” Ms Woods gives one last smile before closing the door.

Clarke tries to recap their conversation on her walk back to the service elevator. Was Ms Woods flirting with her. Clarke’s pretty sure they were flirting and she invited her back sometime. That’s definitely flirting. And she didn’t make too big of an ass of herself. She recovered quickly and discovered she likes movie references, just like she did.

Clarke steps on the elevator with a wide mischievous smile. _Crushed it!_


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke had never in her life wished the weekend would go by quickly just so she could go back to work. 

Raven had the first day off with her at the apartment. Their “Saturday” nights were pizza and a movie night. The only rule of pizza and a movie night states they can never eat the same pizza or watch a previously viewed movie night movie. Tonight’s pizza of choice – garlic cream sauce, prosciutto, spinach, and mozzarella. And on the big screen – Cruel Intentions.

As Raven queued up Netflix, Clarke ran downstairs to grab the delivery. 

“Oh my god, this smells so good,” Clarke announces as she kicks the apartment door shut behind her.

“Yeah, I’m excited to try this one. Great choice, Griffin. Grab me a beer while you’re up, pleeeease.” Raven begs, hands clasped in a prayer.

Clarke grabs two plates, napkins, and their beers from the kitchen and joins Raven on the couch. “I don’t think I’ve seen Cruel Intentions since I was 17. I hope Ryan Phillippe is still as hot as I remember.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is. This TV will give us a 60 inch view of one of his best assets. I don’t think we’ll be disappointed!”

“Well hurry up and hit play. Give me Phillippe ass or give me death!” 

The girls settled in with their pizza and beer as the movie started. The opening credits played as the camera swept over a cemetery. The screen panned over to a highway, narrowing in on a black car. Less than a minute from hitting play, Clarke knew where she had seen Ms Woods’ car before. It looked just like Sebastian’s 1956 Jaguar Roadster.

Clarke slapped Raven on the shoulder with the back of her hand, “Jesus Christ, Clarke, I almost spilled. That’s alcohol abuse!”

“Um, hello, don’t you recognize that car? That looks exactly like Ms Woods’ vintage Jag,” Clarke declared.

“Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. Damn that girl has good taste. You know, I think the only reason she valets is because she knows the guys love it. If that was my car, I wouldn’t let anyone touch it. Maybe she’ll let me take a look under the hood sometime. Or take if for a spin.”

Clarke sat there in awe, staring at the screen. Clarke would sure like to take a look under _her_ hood sometime.

//

Clarke sat fairly silent the rest of the movie, offering little commentary. Raven had to practically elbow her to make sure she didn’t miss the pool scene and Phillippe’s derriere. Clarke remembered what she loved about the movie with her friends in high school. Sebastian and Kathryn were ruthless, morally damaged socialites. They were supposed to be her age and what a fantasy it was to have unimaginable wealth and have an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude. She loved the thrill of their manipulations and the over the top characters. 

Now, nearly 10 years since she had last seen it, she saw how rotten everything was. Their manipulations weren’t fun anymore. They ruined people’s lives just for kicks. Their unimaginable wealth corrupted them. They were bad people.

_Was that what Ms Woods was like?_

The credits started playing and Raven turned off the TV. “What is up with you? You’ve been quiet all night and at least 2 beers ahead of me. What’s bugging you?”

Clarke, not sure if she should have this conversation with Raven, shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know, you’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Come on, we’re best friends. I might think it’s stupid but we’ll laugh about it together and I’ll give you the best advice I can. Lay it on me.”

“It’s just… I dunno. I used to love this movie and now it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This is what I imagine a lot of our guests to be like. We’re just servants to them, waiting on them hand and foot. A guy practically screamed at me a few days ago because I couldn’t get him a reservation at 7pm, the best I could do was 7:15. I mean, these people never hear ‘No’ and when they do, they bark at you like you’re trash.” 

“Yeah, they can be assholes, but you have to let it go in one ear and out the other. You have to remind yourself that you’re the better person or you’re going to go crazy. It seems like you’re doing a great job, but it’s not for everyone. If you can’t shake it off, maybe try to find something else.”

“Well, I don’t want to quit. I can’t quit, I can’t afford it. The tips are really great, I can’t deny that. And I actually get this sense of satisfaction when I make something happen, you know? Like I can help make someone’s day. Yesterday, I got this little girl a tour of the Research and Collections labs at the Natural History Museum, and she lost her mind she was so happy, hugging me and crying. It’s things like that I really love about this job.” Clarke really had been enjoying her new job, but this movie really made her feel like a Debbie Downer.

“See, they’re not all bad. And think about Ms Woods, she’s like, a bazillion-aire, and she seems like a good person.” Clarke was grateful Raven was the one to bring her up instead of her.

“Ok, but what if it’s all a show. I mean, she has a car just like Sebastian, maybe that’s her idol or something.”

“You’re probably right. I bet she wants to sleep with her step-brother, too. Do you think she’s the one snorting coke out of a necklace or the brother?” Raven asks feigning curiosity. 

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen Ms Woods? That woman is gayer than the day is long so if anything she wants to sleep with her step-sister.” Clarke laughs as she allows the ridiculousness of the conversation to wash over her. 

“Clarke, are you still crushing on her? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Yeah, I’ve kinda got it bad for her.” Clarke blushes and looks at Raven like she’s in trouble. “I’ve talked to her a few times and was even up at her unit. She’s _definitely_ flirting with me too but I’m still trying to figure out if it’s just because she’s beautiful and charming and flirts with everyone or if it’s more,” Clarke punctuates her sentence with the hopeful wiggle of her eyebrows. 

“Hold up, you went to her place! Why?” Raven’s wide eyes and shocked expression make Clarke giggle.

“Well, she left something in the lobby, which I’m pretty sure she did on purpose, and I simply returned it.” At this point Raven’s given herself into the excitement of what could be. “I didn’t go in, we just talked in her doorway, but oh my god she is something else!”

“Wow, okay from now on I want all the juicy details. I’ve been in her place, you know.”

“What? Tell me everything about it! I’m dying to get in there, if you know what I mean.”

“Ok, slow down you fiend. Yeah, I’ve been there a few times. Mostly to change the way-out-of-reach light bulbs and stuff. It’s amazing! There’s artwork everywhere and the place is spotless. When she bought the place she really bought two units, the actual penthouse on 13 and then the unit below on 12. She opened up half the floor so the place is a huge loft now. Two-story windows, amazing view… I would kill to live there,” Raven gushes.

Clarke’s just shaking her head, “Wow. I couldn’t see anything when I was at her door. All I could hear was jazz playing in the background. Like, of course Ms Woods would listen to jazz. Now I definitely have to get in there!”

“Just don’t be stupid, Clarke. You’ll get in a ton of trouble if you mess this up!”

“I’ve got it all under control, don’t worry. Besides, you can always window shop as long as you don’t leave fingerprints on the glass,” Clarke explains with a sly smile. 

//

Clarke’s first day back at work was generally unremarkable. She was working the first half of the week in the afternoon and the second half early in the morning – the dreaded “Clopen”. A ‘closing’ shift followed by an ‘opening’ shift. Though hotels are open 24/7, working back to back shifts like that, only 8 hours apart, are horrible. And considering her commute to and from work on the train, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. But Clarke’s the newbie on the staff so she was bound to get the shittiest schedule.

Around 8pm, activity in the lobby started to pick up. Guests were shuffling in and out, coming back from a late afternoon in the office or headed out to dinner. Clarke must’ve made 10 calls for reservations in the last hour or so. This is the easiest part of her job. Name dropping the hotel she works for is the quickest way to get a reservation. Restaurants know the clientele that stay at Polis and can easily expect them to run up a nice tab. The restaurants keeping a tally of all of her reservations will give her a cash incentive every few months. Quid pro quo. 

In her downtime, Clarke practically stares at the residential elevator across the lobby, willing it to open. Imagining Ms Woods stepping off and sauntering across the lobby toward her. Whisking her away for a night on the town. _Keep dreaming Clarke!_

There’s been a lull in guest requests the past few minutes and Clarke spends her free moments staring at that elevator. As if on cue, it opens. And Ms Woods steps off and starts walking through the lobby. _Pinch yourself, Clarke, you must be in a dream._

Clarke can’t believe it. “Is this really happening,” she thinks to herself.

Just before Ms Woods is about to step onto the tile at the center of the lobby, she places her hand on the shoulder of a woman seated on one of the lobby couches. The woman looks up at her and beams, standing quickly to give her a hug. They speak, just out of Clarke’s earshot, and laugh. Their laughs Clarke can definitely hear. It’s hard not to notice how close and friendly the women are. Jealousy boils within the concierge. 

The mystery woman with honey blonde hair grabs her purse and they start walking toward the entry. Ms Woods has her arm up around her shoulder and the woman’s is around the back of her waist. Just before they disappear though the automatic doors, Ms Woods looks to the concierge as she often does, her expression indistinguishable to Clarke.

_Who the hell was that?_ Clarke is taken aback. She wonders, does Ms Woods have a girlfriend? 

//

The next few days pass without much care. Clarke forces herself to be disinterested in who comes and goes from the residential elevator or whether a beautiful vintage Jaguar pulls up to the front of the hotel. What’s the point in caring when she doesn’t stand a chance. Of course Ms Woods has a girlfriend. Women probably throw themselves at her. 

_Clarke_ was practically throwing herself at her. She didn’t want to be one of those women. Fawning over an unattainable woman. Better to keep a distance, keep expectations low and let whatever this is or isn’t play out organically.

Ms Woods only visited her at the concierge desk once. She needed a hotel room reservation at the Polis sister property in New York City, The Azgeda. The name on the reservation: Anya Oakes. Clarke could only suspect this was the woman Ms Woods met in the lobby a few days prior. 

//

Clarke had gotten off of work at 3pm and planned to catch a local band playing downtown with Raven in the evening before enjoying the next two days off. Rather than take the train all the way back to Bethesda, just to turn around in an hour or two to head back to DC, she decided to spend the sunny afternoon in the most famous park in the city. Clarke situated herself on a bench on the south side of the National Mall, along the Tidal Basin. She kept cool in the shade of the small trees lining the basin. The noise of passing tourists and cars created the white noise she needed considering she forgot her headphones in her work locker.

In the odd sense of peace and calm she found herself in, she grabbed her sketchbook and started drawing, snacking on a salad she had packed. Drawing nothing in particular, just figures. Those figures taking shape, as they usually do, into whimsical creatures, fantastical monsters, and surreal landscapes. 

Taking a break to stretch out, Clarke took in the view. It truly was a beautiful day - not terribly hot and a cool breeze. She spotted Ms Woods, jogging past her. They were within feet of each other, the bench and the walking path. Did Ms Woods notice Clarke sitting there? Probably not. There were people all around them taking pictures and searching maps. 

The sight only lasted a moment and Ms Woods was gone. Nothing left to see except flashes of her neon yellow sports bra between bodies off in the distance. 

Clarke got back to her drawings, forcing herself to focus on her sketchpad and not the passing beauty. A new shape forming from her charcoal strokes turned into a pair of running legs. Toned and athletic.

Clarke’s so centered on the drawing in front of her that she doesn’t notice the body that had entered her periphery, leaning on the bench. 

“You found my favorite spot,” her head snaps over, jarred from her work. Ms Woods stands to her right, one leg up on the bench, stretching her muscles. 

Clarke tries to cover her latest sketch with her hands, “Oh, hi Ms Woods. I… I didn’t see you there.” But she sure was seeing her now. Ms Woods’ yellow sports bra left her toned abdomen exposed and her arms bare. Clarke was getting a clear view of the six tribal-like hooks on Ms Woods’ right arm. The jogger’s controlled breaths and thin layer of sweat a clear indication of her athleticism. It was clear she treated her body like a temple and took great pride in the care she exercised. _Quit staring Clarke!_

“Yeah, you seemed really into your drawing. I saw you when I came past earlier so I thought I’d stop to say hi. And you can call me Lexa, by the way.”

“Lexa, okay… Um, no, actually I _have_ to call you ‘Ms Woods’. It’s a Polis rule, formally acknowledging guests and residents whenever possible.”

“Oh right, well we’re not at Polis now, so you can call me Lexa if you want. And anytime we’re not in the lobby for that matter.”

“Okay, Lexa it is,” Clarke says with warmth in her words and tingle in her stomach. 

“So what were you drawing?” Lexa asks, still stretching her legs on the bench.

Still trying to hide her sketch inspired by Lexa, deciding it’s best to close the book altogether, “Just, um, nothing special. Just doodling.”

“Can I see?” Lexa finishes her stretching and turns her body squarely to Clarke. Clarke gets a full view of her abdomen. She would be completely mesmerized by Lexa’s V-lines if it weren’t for the intricate tattoo covering her left side. 

“Oh wow, this is beautiful! A ship and a squid, like the Kraken?”

Lexa giggles and Clarke suddenly realizes her fingertips are tracing the lines on her ribcage. _Fuck!_ She tears her hand away in embarrassment, not knowing how long it had been there. The brunette is unphased, nevermind the goosebumps prickling her skin.

“I just like squids, ok?” Lexa quips. If Clarke was in her right mind, she might press for more of an explanation, but all she can do now is pray to not embarrass herself any more. Her fingertips burning from touching the runner’s skin. “But, really, I’d love to see your work. If I may?”

Clarke is cringing. Normally she’s not self-conscious in showing her work off, but she feels the need to impress Lexa. What if she doesn’t like them? Or thinks their childish? Art was Clarke’s life, her real life, not this concierge crap. If Lexa didn’t like it, she’d be crushed. “Do you promise not to laugh? This is literally just a sketchbook, full of doodles, nothing special…”

“I would never laugh Clarke. I can’t even draw a straight line with a ruler. I’d really love to see them, I’m sure they’re great.” Lexa has both hands out slightly and open, asking but not demanding to see as she takes a seat next to the blonde. 

Clarke hesitantly hands over the closed sketchbook. It’s cover shows the brand name in big letters, “Strathmore”, and a picture on the front. A standard issue sketchbook found at any art supply store, but essential nonetheless. Lexa has the spiral bound book in her hands and looks to Clarke, giving her an opportunity to take it back if she wants. Clarke gives a small nod of consent and Lexa opens the book thumbing through one page at a time. Some pages filled to the edges with a massive, complex scene, others littered with small sketches here and there, some scribbled out entirely. 

“Wow. Clarke, these are incredible,” Lexa raves. “I’ve noticed the little doodles you have at your desk, but I had no idea you were this good.”

“You weren’t supposed to see those. I kind of can’t keep my hands still at the desk. Sometimes I give them to the younger guests. It keeps them from screaming in the lobby.” Clarke says, ignoring Lexa’s praise. She’s been avoiding looking at her directly. Scared to see her reaction. 

“I’m telling you Clarke, these are special. So surreal or ethereal, I don’t know the right word to describe them. If these are just sketches I’d love to see your portfolio.” Lexa’s looking directly at Clarke, making sure she knows she’s being genuine. “This is gallery worthy stuff. Did you go to art school?”

“Yeah, I just graduated actually. Art’s not exactly paying the bills just yet so I’m at Polis, doing that whole ‘starving artist’ thing. And I don’t really have a studio to work in right now. Do you really like them? They’re kind of childish, don’t you think?” _What are you saying Clarke? Quit trying to convince her to not like them!_

“These aren’t childish at all! They’re dreamlike and gritty. You have so many hidden details in these scenes; like you could get lost in them. They’re excellent.” Lexa’s stopped on a page just before the sketch of herself, not knowing what lies beneath. 

Clarke’s shyness has turned to blushing happiness. A smile slowly and carefully creeping across her face. “Thanks. That means a lot.” She makes a move to take the book from Lexa before she decides to view the next few pages. Her hand ghosting over Lexa’s before she hands it over.

“I’m serious about that portfolio. Please? I’d love to see your favorite pieces, your best work.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll put something together. Will a flash drive work?”

Lexa jumps up, snatching a carrot from Clarke’s salad. “Perfect! I’m looking forward to it! Well, I’ve gotta get my heart rate back up. I’ll be seeing you, Clarke.” She takes a snapping bite from the carrot and jogs off. Looking back with a smile.

Clarke sat at that bench for another forty-one minutes. 

//

The next morning Lexa found a white envelope outside her door as she returned from her morning run. Her name written on the front in artsy handwriting, “L. Woods”. Lexa is certain it’s a Legally Blonde reference. A flash drive filled with Clarke’s favorite paintings and drawings inside.


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, _Clarke_ ,” he reads through squinted eyelids, “my boys and I have a bet going - Who can bag the hottest babe in this hotel. They’re all wasting their time with sixes, but I can see you’re the only ten here.”

‘Finn Collins’ as Clarke could read from the lanyard around his neck, hasn’t left her alone since 6pm when their conference broke for a dinner and cocktail reception. A group of 175 pharmaceutical sales reps were attending an awards banquet at Polis for the past two days - 175 arrogant, cocky, too-much-money-for-their-own-good brats who think they can have and do whatever they want.

Dryly, “That’s very, um, flattering _Mr Collins_ , but I’m working and not interested.” Clarke has done her best to ward off his advances for the last three hours. She prayed to whoever was listening the next two hours would fly by, until she could catch the first train out of this nightmare.

“Did it hurt when you were in heav- when you fell from heaven? Hey, hey, you see this little blue ribbon?” slurring and pointing to the sticker on his nametag, “ ‘Highest Grossing Sales 3rd Quarter 2015 Midwest’ ”

“That is very impressive.” At this point Clarke can barely spare the energy to look directly at him. 

“What do you say I go show you off in the ballroom, grab a drink, and head back up to my room?” Finn has the audacity to slide a $50 bill across the desk as he leers at her. Clarke is visibly disgusted and picks up her phone to call security.

“Excuse me?” A voice from behind him calls out.

Finn spins around to find a wavy haired brunette scowling at him. “Whoa! Looks like I’ve got a two-for-one going on here!” He gestures back and forth between the women, spilling some of his cocktail.

“I think Clarke would like to be left alone. Your attempts at hitting on her are leaving you painfully embarrassed, though you clearly cannot see what a jackass you’re making of yourself. I suggest you walk away and not say another word to her, or I will call security. And you better leave that $50 for her trouble of dealing with your drunk, shameful self. Now show a little respect for her and apologize.” 

Finn’s drunken state and overall lack of intellect are hindering his ability to process what just happened and formulate a response. He stumbles a half step back and settles for a shaky, “I.. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your ‘sorry’, I need you to get out of my face,” Clarke spits back, grabbing the banknote and tearing it in two. Finn is taken aback yet again. He looks to the brunette who gave him the first verbal lashing.

“You heard the woman, why the hell are you still standing here? You and your floppy hair need to disappear. Now.” Finn looks between the two, swallows hard, resolving to turn and walk away. Both women watch him as he picks up his pace and disappears down the hallway leading to the banquet spaces.

“Thank you, Ms Woods, for saying that stuff to him. Defending me.”

“I’m just glad I came through when I did. You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Clarke nods her head. “Alright, I’ll be seeing you, Clarke.” Lexa backs away from the desk with a tight-lipped smile and heads across the lobby toward her elevator, glacing down the hallway to ensure Jim, or whatever his name was, is nowhere in sight.

“Wait!” Clarke walks over quickly, paper in her hand. “Here.”

“Is this me?” The image of a jogging woman adorns the page.

“Yeah, I had started sketching you last week when we saw each other in the park. I finished it.”

“Oh, wow, Clarke. Thanks. I don’t know that I’ve ever been the subject of a piece of art.”

Clarke can’t hide her grin, “Yeah, well, beauty in this world should be captured and immortalized.” She’s rubbing her neck in shyness. _Is this overstepping? Too weird? Creepy?_

Lexa’s raised eyebrows and bit bottom lip give away her flattered state. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Well, goodnight, I’ll be seeing you, Lexa.” It’s Clarke’s turn to back away, ear to ear smile on her face.

//

The hotel lobby was bustling. Blurs of crisp business suits streaking through, briefcases in hand. This job has given Clarke a pause from her usually “rich people are assholes” mentality and allowed a second impression. At first Clarke would make up ridiculous stories for the people that pissed her off. The man who told her she was useless when she couldn’t name a tailor who specializes in double-breasted Italian suits, definitely has a mole on his back in the shape of a penis and his wife, who only married him for his money, is repulsed by him. 

Clarke found herself making up stories about every guest she encountered. This one’s a con artist, that one’s role playing with her husband as the business traveller and the male escort. Those two women are definitely lesbianing, but work for the same company, so they have to check into separate (though always adjoining) rooms for their expense reports. Her stories turned into theories about what their real lives were actually like. She was suddenly humanizing each of them. They weren’t all business people either, there were plenty of families and tourists. People with just enough money to splurge on a fancy hotel. 

There was one person, however, that Clarke couldn’t quite figure out. Lexa Woods. Clarke didn’t even know what she did for a living. 

Lexa’s ears must have been burning because suddenly there she was. Expectantly waiting to speak with the concierge who seemed to be lost in her thoughts.

“Good afternoon, Clarke,” Lexa says softly to ease her out of her thoughts.

“Oh! Hi, Lex- Ms Woods! How are you on this lovely day?” Clarke knows she’s not alone at the desk and her co-workers are nearby. She needs to remain professional, as much as she wishes she could have a more casual chat with the beauty in front of her. 

“I’m doing quite well, thank you for asking. And you?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Today’s my “Friday” so I’m looking forward to the weekend.”

“Well TGIF, then. Any big plans?”

“Not really. Movie night tomorrow, brunch with my mom, nothing exciting really. What about you?”

“ _Nothing exciting really_ , flying to Paris, acquiring a company. You know, same old, same old…”

“Oh wow, I love France, the countryside, vineyards, and Paris is beautiful of course. That sounds like quite a busy weekend.”

“Actually, I’ll be gone about two weeks, twelve days really.” Clarke’s previous excitement is now dead. Lexa will be gone nearly two whole weeks. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I wonder if I could ask you a favor? I’m going to have several packages delivered while I’m gone. And it’s not that I don’t trust the bellmen to drop them off and go into my unit, but I _do_ trust you. I’d just be more comfortable knowing it was you instead.” 

Clarke is suddenly lost in her thoughts again, ‘what the hell do I have to look forward to everyday if it isn’t spotting and talking to her?’ 

“So what do you say? Can you deliver my packages while I’m gone?” 

“Um yeah, sure! Yeah, no problem. How will I get in?” 

“Great, here’s a key. I think it’ll be quite a few boxes, maybe a big one or two. You can just set them inside the door or in the dining room, which would be straight ahead and to the right a bit if you use the 12th floor entrance.”

“Ok, yeah, no problem. I’d be happy to help.” 

“Great, I really appreciate it, Clarke! Thank you!”

“So what exactly are you doing in Paris for two weeks, if I might ask?”

“My company is acquiring a manufacturing plant there. Not actually in Paris but a few hours to the West. So I’ll get to see a bit of the countryside you like so much.” Clarke is blushing.

“The lavender fields are my favorite. The color is so vibrant, row after row. Just beautiful.”

“Well, if I see any I know I’ll be thinking of you.” Lexa says sweetly. _Holy shit Clarke, she is definitely flirting with you!_

“I bet you will,” Clarke flirts back, leaning perhaps too far across her desk, unable to remain as professional as she intended.

Lexa quirks an eyebrow and tries to hold back her grin. “Well thanks again, Clarke. And here,” she pulls a $100 bill from her pocket, “for your trouble the next two weeks.”

“That’s really not necessary, Ms Woods, it’s my pleasure.” Clarke declines to take the money from Lexa’s waiting hand.

“I can appreciate that, Clarke, but it is customary to tip the concierge. I don’t care what you do with it. Buy everyone pizza tonight or tear it in half like you did the other day. Either way, I don’t want to take advantage of our… friendship.” Lexa reaches across her desk and grabs her computer mouse, placing the money underneath it. “I’ll be back on the 24th. I’ll be seeing you, Clarke.”

Lexa’s green eyes met blue before she left the desk too quickly for Clarke to object once more. 

Two hours later, three pizzas arrived to feed the front desk staff. Clarke didn’t order them and the delivery girl said they were already paid for.

// 

“So you’re telling me you get to go into Ms Wood’s unit everyday for the next two weeks?” Pizza and movie night was going perfectly well until the conversation inevitably turned to Lexa. Raven had a way of sensing something was up with Clarke no matter the context. They’d only been best friends for 15 years. 

“Well, I guess technically yes, but I don’t even know if packages will be delivered every day. And I don’t think I’ll actually go _inside_ , I’ll probably just leave them by the front door.”

“What?! This is the perfect opportunity to snoop!”

“I don’t think so, I’m not comfortable with that and I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate that either. After all, she made it seem like that’s why she didn’t want the bellboys to do it.”

“No, she asked you specifically because she wants you in her place, naked, and on her bed.” 

“Raven, don’t be ridiculous!” Clarke takes this prime opportunity to punch her friend in the shoulder. “If she wanted me naked and on her bed you’d think she’d want to be there to see it instead of galavanting around France. She’s just asking me a favor. I’m not going to be a creep and snoop. I’m not going to go through her fridge. And I’m not going to smell her pillows!”

“Sure Jan.” 

//

The weekend went by quickly. Raven didn’t let up about teasing Clarke and brunch with her mom went as well as expected. Abby Griffin was running her own private medical practice and anytime they got together, she was either distracted or exhausted. 

When Clarke arrived at work on her first day back, there were three small boxes waiting for her. Not to seem too eager, she decided to wait to deliver the packages until just before her lunch break. Of course, that didn’t stop her from glancing at the sealed boxes hidden under her desk every three and a half minutes. 

By 11:37, she couldn’t wait any longer. Announcing she was leaving the desk for her delivery and lunch, she gathered up the small boxes in her arms and headed to the back of the house and the service elevators. She fumbled a bit to swipe her security badge to gain access to the top floors but managed to not drop anything. 

*DING* The elevator doors opened on the twelfth floor, revealing the long hallway Clarke would be walking down several times in the coming weeks. 

Making her way down the hall, Clarke walked as silently as she could. Slowly. Timedly. But why, Clarke thought to herself as she stood outside the door to Lexa’s empty home. Suddenly very nervous with her heart beating anxiously, she dug in her pocket for the key. The delicate balance of the three boxes in jeopardy as the key ring snags the lining of her pocket. The boxes topple in her arms. She drops the key as she pulls her arm up to catch them, though the top box falls to the floor with a distinct thud. Clarke’s cringing with her eyes jammed shut, only peeking to see if anyone had seen or heard it, but thankfully the hallway is still empty.

With an exhale of relief she crouches down to pick up the errant package and the key, using the door to steady herself as she stands again. She slides the key in the lock, hearing each of the lock pins tap into place. Taking a deep breath, she twists the knob and opens the door. Just a few inches at first, then wider. Blinded by the natural light filling the enormous space, Clarke stopped herself barely a step inside. 

Overwhelmed by anxiousness, she quickly places two boxes at her feet and the one that fell on the small entry table a few steps in. She’ll have to remember to bring a note next time apologizing that she dropped that one. Right now though, she needs to get out of there. She pulls the door shut quickly but as quietly as possible, pausing only to ensure it was locked. She makes it to the elevator in a quarter of the time it took her just a moment ago. 

//

“Soooo, how’d it go? What did you see? Was she inside waiting for you? Tell me everything?” Raven quizzed as soon as she took her loaded plate to Clarke’s lunchroom table. The cafeteria was filled with small tables, enough seating for 40 probably. A buffet lined the wall next to the entrance, with a soda fountain and vending machine on the wall hooking to the left. Zero windows and a TV filling the others, which is to say it was nothing special. 

Clarke looks at Raven with a cocked head and lips pursed as if to say, ‘Really?’ “I didn’t see anything. I barely made it inside two feet before I hightailed it outta there.”

“What the hell is wrong with you!? What are you so scared of? I’m sure she’s fine with you _looking_ at the space beyond her foyer, that’s not exactly the same as digging through her underwear drawer. “

“Jesus Christ, would you keep your voice down! I just- I was nervous. I... dropped one of the boxes.”

“What!?” Raven exclaims, clearly ignoring Clarke’s request for a more hushed conversation. “You dropped one? Did it break? Was it a vintage crystal Tiffany’s vase?”

“What? No! I don’t know. Ughh! It didn’t sound like it broke, but I was too scared to shake it to find out. I’ll just leave a note next time I go up and hopefully she won’t kill me. I am such a fucking spaz!” Clarke’s incessantly shaking her leg under the table as she pokes around at her bland lunch. “Can we change the subject? I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Without missing a beat, “I think Octavia and Lincoln are hooking up.”

Taken aback by the abrupt though welcome transition, Clarke’s jaw drops in silence. Her eyes eagerly asking for more detail.

“I think I walked in on them doing something but by the time I saw them they were moving around each other awkwardly trying to play it cool. Octavia just said, ‘Thanks for the light bulb’ and just left. Like, what light bulb? She wasn’t holding one, what would she need one for? Something’s up with those two.”

//

The days went by. More boxes arrived in various sizes. Some days too many or too large to carry by herself so she enlisted the help of a luggage cart. Some deceptively small and heavy. Some big and flat. Others clinked at the slightest disturbance, though Clarke would never intentionally shake them. As much as she desperately wanted to, feeling like a little girl with wrapped birthday presents, she restrained herself.

The pile of boxes just inside Lexa’s door was growing comically large. Clarke couldn’t help but think of the scene at the end of Home Alone 2 with the Christmas tree and a hundred gift boxes underneath. Ok, well, that’s a slight exaggeration but you get the idea. Clarke couldn’t walk further into the home if she tried to, the packages created a barrier between the door and the residence that lay behind it.

On day 10 of Lexa’s absence, only one item was delivered. Clarke stared at it as it sat on the loading dock. The massive package was over a foot taller than her and wider than her shoulders. Red ‘HEAVY’ stickers plastered every side.

“Wow, what the hell is that?” Raven appeared at her side, examining the box. 

“I’m gonna need your help with this one,” Clarke said, still staring at the mystery package.

“Mmmhmmm.”

//

“Holy shit, this thing’s gotta be at least 80 pounds. Maybe a hundred!” Raven says, taking a moment to stretch her back. Both girls were sweating by the time they figured out how to lift it and wedge it onto the luggage cart.

As they made their way to the service elevator Clarke’s head was swimming with ideas about what was contained in these boxes. She wonders if Lexa will tell her. Maybe she went on a massive Amazon spending spree. Maybe she was redecorating. _What the hell could be in this box?!_

The elevator takes them to the 12th floor and Clarke starts to push the cart down the hallway. “Oh my god, the carpet is making this so hard to push. Help me Raven!”

Both girls now pushing side by side. The cart is so heavy and hard to steer that the front end keeps veering to one side or another. “Why couldn’t the elevator be on the other side of the hallway!” Raven’s desperate for this madness to be over. 

They arrive at Lexa’s door and Clarke unlocks it, pushing the door open. Raven’s eyes go wide as she takes in the nearly twenty boxes littering the floor. “Where are we going to put this one?” Raven asks, still not daring to cross the threshold.

“I don’t know. We need to move these first to get the cart in. Maybe we’ll just put it over by the dining table.”

The girls begin moving the boxes, some stacked on top of others, they’re easier and quicker to move than expected. Now they’re faced with the task of maneuvering the cart through the door and over to the dining table without banging into anything, then somehow getting the box off and onto the floor.

Raven starts pushing with Clarke in front to guide it. It’s much easier to handle on the smooth surface of Lexa’s foyer.

“Ok, let’s lower one end of the box to the floor together and then the other.”

Moving with the care of curators handling a priceless piece of artwork, the girls execute their charge with precision. The long, flat, and fat box now lying on the floor, Clarke gives her head a quick nod of approval. Motion to her side, stirs her from her feeling of accomplishment. She sees Raven tip-toeing around the room, heading to what seems to be the wide open living area.

“Raven! Get back here!” Clarke commands through gritted-teeth, pointing her finger to the floor right in front of her. 

“I’m just looking around, Jesus! She’s changed things up a bit since I’ve been here last. More art on the walls. More naked ladies.”

Clarke suddenly realized she was currently standing nearly thirty feet further into the condo than she had over any of the previous week and half. Though struck by the realization, she dared to look around. The furniture a mix between vintage and modern. The walls were covered in beautiful pieces of art. Many featuring unclothed women. Tasteful, naked women.

“Let’s just go, Rae. This is weird.”

“It’s not weird, but fine.” Raven takes one last look before grabbing the luggage cart and pulling it towards the door.

//

Day 11 was going by achingly slow. Not a single package was delivered, the hotel was dead, and the inky rain clouds outside were keeping the lobby depressingly dark. 

After lunch, far too much time was spent scrubbing down her workstation and reorganizing the brochures and paperclips in her drawers. Luckily, she was able to waste 45 minutes making monsters out of binder clips and post-its. 

“Excuse me, Clarke, I’m sorry to interrupt your… work,” Jasper the bellboy interrupted. “I found this envelope for you. I think I got it this morning but it fell between the bellstand and the wall and I just noticed it.”

Clarke snatches the hard-sided envelope from his hands. ‘International Priority Mail’ and the signature purple and orange ‘FedEx’ emblazoned on one side. She flips it over quickly to see who it’s from. ‘L. Woods’. _Did she get my Legally Blonde joke?_ Addressed to ‘Clarke Griffin, Concierge’.

“What the hell! You’ve had this all day and just now gave it to me?!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize I’d lost it, geez.”

“No, I’m sorry, Jasper. I shouldn’t have snapped, my fault. Thank you for finding it.”

//

Clarke spent the better part of the next hour just staring at the envelope. It had clearly travelled a long way. Not damaged by any means, just worn around the edges and a smudge here and there. 

Ready to pull the tab to see what’s inside, she hesitates. If she was confused by the boxes delivered over the past week and a half, this was even more perplexing. If she’s coming home tomorrow, why would she send me priority, overnight, international mail, Clarke thought to herself.

The time to hesitate is through and Clarke rips the envelope at the tab, pulling the tear strip.

She hastily pries the sides of the envelope apart to find the contents. One small piece of paper is found inside. 

“Open the boxes and have fun! -Lexa”

//

Clarke had only re-read the note about 341 times when Mr Blake decided to let her go home early since it was so slow. 

Clarke practically sprinted to the locker room to change out of her uniform. She makes a quick stop in the engineering office to ask Raven for a box cutter. With no one in there, she searches on her own. Following the walls of tools and spare parts, she rounds a corner and stops dead in her tracks. Lincoln and Octavia haven’t even noticed her when she blurts out, “Holy shit! Oh my god! I’m sorry!” 

It’s probably a good thing she interrupted when she did or their makeout session would’ve officially turned NSFW.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m just looking for… umm.” Clarke frantically looks around for anything with an even remotely sharp edge. Finally spotting a pair of scissors, “Here! Got it. Great. Well I’ll be going now… Ok, bye.” Clarke quickly backs out of the office but not before ramming her hip on a workbench, causing three screwdrivers and a handheld radio to crash to the floor. 

She makes her way toward the service elevator where she nearly runs into Raven pushing a cart full of LED lightbulbs. “Hey Clarke! Did Blake let you go early?”

“Yeah! Lucky me! Well gotta go!” 

“Wait, where are you going? The exit’s over there,” Raven says pointing her thumb over she shoulder. 

“Oh, right. Just so excited to go, you know. Not thinking straight…”

“Ok, well, chill out a little. You’re acting weird. I’ll see you later.” Raven gives Clarke a narrow eyed look as she starts pushing her cart again. 

Clarke slowly starts walking toward the exit Raven pointed to, taking her time until Raven was out of sight. As soon as the coast was clear she darted back toward the service elevator. She jammed the button over and over again as if it would make the lift come down faster. Once inside, she swiped her security badge and up she went.

Once in front of Lexa’s door she pulled out the note once more in case her eyes had deceived her. 

“Open the boxes and have fun! -Lexa”

She reassured herself. This Lexa. With the boxes. I’m supposed to have fun. 

She slides the key in the lock, swiftly opening the door. Once inside with the door closed, she calls out, “Lexa? Are you here?”

No answer. _Ok, so far this doesn’t seem like some weird trick._

Clarke walks over to the entry table with the small box dropped nearly two weeks ago. There’s a note by it of course. Something along the lines of - so sorry, accidentally dropped it, I’ll totally pay you back if it’s broken.

Clarke picks up the box, this time not afraid to shake it. The box is silent so she grabs the scissors and slices the tape holding it shut. Opening the flaps two by two, she finds black fabric. Endlessly confused, she pulls the item out and unravels it, holding it out in front of her. An apron. _An apron?!_

She stands there a moment and calls out once more, “Lexa?” 

Nothing.

She sets the apron down on table and grabs the scissors, making her way to the gigantic box lying on the floor of the dining room. 

Without a second thought, Clarke slashes the tape on the box and digs through the stuffing. Packing peanuts and styrofoam are littering the floor around her. When she finds the treasure within she’s speechless. Actually the phrase, “Oh wow,” does escape her lips in a whisper.

She knows exactly what this is and wastes no more time gawking. She has to think about this. How the hell does she get it out of the box and move it by herself? 

Clarke is able to slide the box to the edge of the dining room which takes a step down into the open living room area. She uses the leverage from the step to lift one end of the box onto the couch and slowly pulls it into a standing position. From there she pulls out the rest of the packing material. Though it takes a bit of negotiating, she’s able to inch the object out of the box. Scooting one side, then the other and over again until it’s been freed from its box. Now standing fully on its own in full view, a double-masted, H-frame easel. A top-of-the-line, hardwood, professional as shit easel.

Clarke marveled at it. An apron and an easel. There was no question in her mind what was contained in the other piles of boxes. She tore into them laying everything on the dining table by category. Brushes, palettes and palette knives, charcoals, every type and color of paint imaginable. Then the canvases. Fifteen in all. Big, small, long – all gallery quality.

With everything spread out on the table in front of her, Clarke began to feel a bit lightheaded. Overwhelmed by the thoughts swimming in her head, she sits on the couch. Her blue eyes race back and forth from the easel, mountain of supplies, and the apron by the front door. 

She pulls out the note a final time. The same message still imprinted. _She wants me to paint. She knew I didn’t have a studio, so she’s giving me one._

“Holy shit.”

//

Clarke spent hours going back and forth from standing still and staring at the empty easel to pacing the residence from end to end along the two-story windows. Rain still beating down on them. Sometimes with a brush in her hand, patting the dry bristles against her lips in contemplation. _What the hell should I paint?_

It was practically evening by now and the sky was dark with storm clouds. She had to find a light switch quickly before she actually broke a toe from stubbing it on all the modern art and furniture littering Lexa’s home.

She turned on the flashlight app on her phone and followed the walls in search of a switch. There were none to be found, but where one typically was were large touch screens. Upon coming across the third one she decided this must be some fancy technology she’s never seen before. She tapped the screen with her finger and it sprung to life. Lit up like a Christmas tree, is a complete layout of the house, both floors. Touch a room and a multitude of options come up. You want music, pull up the library. Want to cool down the kitchen, just spin the virtual dial. Want to adjust the lighting, slide the indicator. There were even spotlights in each room that could be directed at your whim.

Once the lights were just right, Clarke took the opportunity to really take in the space around her. Stopping in front of each piece of artwork to take a look, she felt like she was having a conversation with Lexa even though she wasn’t there. This was her home and Lexa invited Clarke in.

Still unsure about what to paint, Clarke went back over to the window. The rain hasn’t let up and it’s getting darker still. She places her hand on the window, feeling the thrumming of the rain. _She’s got it!_

She heads back over to the front door and grabs the apron and throws it over her neck as she walks over to the dining table and considers what she needs. Starting with the canvases, she selects five in varying sizes. 

She places them on the floor and positions the first one on the easel, locking the extendable armatures into place. _Time to get to work!_

Acrylic paint flows off her brush - blues, purples, whites - creating the background. Soon she ditches the paintbrushes altogether, opting solely for the palette knives.

She interchanges the canvases as she goes, one step, then the next. The pounding of the rain provided a beautiful soundtrack to let the paint flow. And the booming thunder propelling her into the night. 

Satisfied with her work, she takes a step back inspecting her efforts. Standing there in her black apron smudged in a thousand colors, she pulls her phone out to check the time. Dead. And the darkness outside had been deceiving hours ago, there was no telling now. A deep yawn threatens to overtake her. 

Clarke heads to the kitchen with her hands full of supplies and dumps them in the sink. She runs hot water and plugs the drain. Under the sink she finds dish soap and squeezes some in the water. She needs one last thing - baking soda. No longer shy, she scours the cabinets to no avail. Remembering her grandmother always kept some in the fridge, she pulls it open. 

There it is, a box in the back. She grabs the box, but before she can shut the door her stomach rumbles so loudly she nearly mistook it for thunder. She peeks around the fridge for a snack. Anything she can munch on before she catches the last train home. _What time was it anyway?_

The fridge was disappointingly barren. She grabs a block of cheese, a baggie of baby carrots, and an orange, laying them out on the kitchen island. 

Clarke dumps a bit of the baking soda in with the hot, soapy water and lets it work it’s magic.

Now, more importantly, onto her snacks. She pulls a knife from the magnetic strip next to the stove and slices some cheese. Once she finds a plate, she unloads some of the carrots and peels the orange. 

Proud of the the makeshift dinner she’s created, she heads over the the couch to take a load off. Just as she sits, she springs back up as if she was launched from her seat. She’s covered in wet paint. She heads back over and hangs her apron on the easel and searches for a bathroom. 

Clarke scrubs her hands and checks her body over for errant drips of paint. Then she’s back to the couch and plops down. Nearly swallowed by the plush cushions, she sits back, munching and thinking. She’s nervous about what Lexa will think of her work. 

“Clarke. Clarke. Wake up, Clarke.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Clarke. Clarke. Wake up, Clarke.” 

The smell of coffee and gentle rocking of her shoulder bring her back to life. Groggy at first, then all of a sudden. 

“Clarke, you could’ve slept in one of the bedrooms.”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry Lexa! I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I- Where did you come from?”

“It’s ok Clarke, I just wish you could’ve been more comfortable. I just got in. I saw the lights were on and found you here.” Lexa’s looking at Clarke like she’s the most precious thing she’s ever seen, disheveled hair and all. She doesn’t even mind the dried drool and crease on her cheek from the couch cushion. “Here. I made you some coffee? Do you need any cream or sugar?”

“No, black is fine. Shit, I’m so sorry. Really, I was trying to clean up and have a snack. This couch lured me into sleep.”

“Yeah, that couch is the devil. It’s too comfy for it’s own good. I’m sorry, I had cleaned out the fridge before I left, I’m surprised you were able to find anything edible. Let me make you breakfast. Or are you missing work?”

“No, I don’t work today. But I really should be going. Fuck, this is so embarrassing.” Clarke stands up abruptly, grabs her dead phone from the coffee table, and tries to beeline for the door. 

“Wait!” Lexa catches her gently by the arm. “Can you show me your paintings before you go?”

 _Paintings?_ It takes Clarke a moment to actually remember what she was doing there in the first place, nevermind how distracted she was with Lexa’s slender hand on her forearm. “Oh ah, yeah, of course.” Lexa’s lingering hold ends as she stands from her seat on the coffee table. 

They make their way toward the improvised studio and Clarke picks up one canvas at a time, placing them on the floor near the large windows.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to go all out. I thought you’d maybe do one piece, not five!”

“Well what’s the fun in that? I felt inspired and it just... happened. And I could’ve just made you something at home. You didn’t need to buy all this stuff.”

“ _Well what’s the fun in that?_ ” Lexa parrots with a clever grin and quirk of her eyebrow.

“Touche!”

“Besides, you said you didn’t have a studio. So just in case…” Lexa says with her arms extended, drawing Clarke’s attention to the plethora of art supplies littering the dining and living rooms.

“Lexa, I can’t accept this. It’s way too much.”

“Well someone has to use it and I certainly wouldn’t know what to do with it all. So. Just in case, it’s here.”

“Thank you,” Clarke resigns, not so reluctantly. “Now look.” Clarke turns her back to Lexa, who walks to her side, viewing the canvases in their entirety.

“Oh wow! Clarke, it’s beautiful! I love cherry blossoms,” Lexa admires the impasto painting. Branches of the cherry blossom tree extend out onto the canvases, creating a polyptych.

“That day we saw each other at the Tidal Basin, you said I was in your favorite spot. I was surrounded by these trees. Do you like it?”

“I love it Clarke, thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Clarke smiles as she watches Lexa take in the artwork in front of her. “Well I should be going. You probably want to get settled.” 

“You’re not a bother, Clarke. But I’ll walk you out if you’d like.”

They make their way to the door and Lexa holds it open. Clarke steps past the threshold and turns back to Lexa, saying goodbye.

Lexa leans in with a hand on Clarke’s upper arm. She leaves a lingering kiss on Clarke’s cheek and says, “Thank you for the wonderful paintings Clarke. It’s my birthday, you know.”

“What? I didn’t know that! Happy birthday, Lexa.”

“It is, Clarke, thank you. You’re welcome to visit anytime, alright? That easel will get lonely.”

“Ok, I will. Bye Lexa,” Clarke gives a shy wave as she turns to leave. Suddenly she gasps, her eyes go wide. She spins around barrelling into Lexa and pushes her way back through the doorway. 

They’re stumbling but Lexa catches them both before they fall to the floor. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Raven, she’s out there working in the hallway.”

“Do you want to invite her in?”

“No!” effused Clarke. “She can’t see me. I really shouldn’t be here at all.”

“Ok. Do you want to wait it out? Make a break for it when she’s done.”

“Is that ok? I know she wouldn’t get me in trouble, but she’ll never let me live it down.”

“Of course it’s ok. As long as you let me make you breakfast now. What’ll it be? Pancakes? Eggs? Cheerios?”

“I didn’t mean to snoop but you really don’t have any food, remember?”

“Oh right, well I’ll just order room service then. Any requests?”

“Surprise me.”

“Perfect! Why don’t you go relax and I’ll make the call.”

Lexa heads upstairs where she left her phone and Clarke opts to avoid the fiendish couch and walks over to the windows, stretching her stiff body. In a few moments, Lexa’s about to head back down, when she’s stopped in her tracks at the sight of Clarke in the sunlight, blonde hair shining. “What do you think of the view?”

Clarke spins around to find Lexa leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs. “It’s beautiful! You can see the whole city from here.”

“That’s why I chose this place. From up here you can see the top of the Capitol building.” Lexa informs, motioning for Clarke to come up to the loft. 

Clarke smiles and heads up the stairs slowly. The last thing she needs is to trip in front of Lexa. “Are you from DC?”

“Not originally, New York actually. I just needed to make a change after college and I love the history in this city so… here I am.”

“Is that why you were running around the National Mall?”

“Yes and no, dodging all the tourists helps with my agility too. It’s twice the workout,” laughs Lexa. “I take a right out of the lobby, head through George Washington, hang a Louie around Lincoln, edge the Basin, pass the Monument, then snake around the Capitol, past the Smithsonian and White House, and I’m back at my front door.”

“Christ! That’s gotta be ten miles!” exclaimed Clarke ‘hasn’t willfully exercised a day in her life’ Griffin.

“It’s only around seven actually. It’s not so bad. It helps clear my head.” Both girls are now leaning on the railing of the loft overlooking the living area towards the windows. “See, the Capitol’s just over there.”

Clarke squints trying to make out the iconic building, “Where? I don’t see it.”

“Just there,” Lexa leans into Clarke with her arm outstretched and pointing. 

Clarke instinctively leans in as well, finding herself practically nestled into Lexa’s arms. Clarke can smell the brunette’s perfume. _Or is it cologne? What’s the difference, the packaging? Doesn’t matter! It’s intoxicating and very distracting._ “Um, where?” Ok, Clarke, now you’re milking it!

Lexa, fully aware of what’s happening, puts her hand on Clarke’s waist and pulls her ever closer, “There.” 

“Oh, I see it now.” Not willing to waste the intimacy of this moment, Clarke doesn’t move an inch. She turns her head toward Lexa, who’s surely breathing the same air. Clarke’s eyes wander to her lips as Lexa’s part just slightly. 

“I have a gift for you,” Lexa practically whispers, reluctantly breaking the tension. “I- I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.” 

Lexa steps away, not taking her eyes off of Clarke, and swallows a lump in her throat. When she finally turns away, Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Clarke takes the moment alone to catch her breath and cool down.

Lexa comes back and hands Clarke a gift wrapped in luxurious paper, covered in white and coral triangles and a few sprigs of lavender tied with a string.

“Lexa, you really need to stop giving me things, you’re way too generous.”

“It’s one of my many vices. Just open it,” Lexa insists.

Clarke shakes her head playfully and proceeds to slip the string off and unwrap the gift being careful to not tear the paper. Inside she finds a leather bound sketchbook. The crisp white paper has deckled edges and her name is imprinted on the bottom right corner of the front cover – Clarke Griffin. 

“Lexa, this is so beautiful, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Clarke. Unfortunately, I don’t know much about you other than you’re an artist. I wish I could be more creative in thanking you for the paintings.” 

“Well you’ll just have to get to know me more then. But you do not need to keep buying me things.”

Lexa brings up her hand and with her pointer finger makes an X on her chest, “Cross my heart!”

“Even with that very sincere promise, somehow I don’t believe you.”

“It’s a bad habit, I will try to restrain myself.”

“Alright then. Will you give me a tour of your place while we wait for breakfast?”

“Oh don’t tell me you didn’t look around the past two weeks!”

“I didn’t I swear! I was in the kitchen, living room, and I used the bathroom downstairs. I’m not interested in invading your privacy Lexa.”

“Well thank you, Clarke. But you could have, you’re welcome here. I don’t want you to be shy.” Lexa leads Clarke around the palatial condo and Clarke does admit to perusing the artwork the previous night. Lexa points out only one, saying it’s her favorite - _La Chute du Chat_ by Jean-Alphonse Roehn. It’s an 19th century painting depicting two women, wrapped in bed sheets post-coitus, being disturbed by a cat. 

“Is this the original?” Clarke asks.

“Sadly, no. It’s in private collection in London. But someday I hope to add it to mine.”

Clarke cannot fathom owning an original artwork by a 19th century French painter. This thought reminds her how little _she_ knows about Lexa. “Lexa, what do you do exactly? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Well... I’m in the family business. I took over when my parents passed.”

“But what kind of business? You were in France buying a whole other company, right?”

“You really didn’t Google me or ask someone?”

“No, I told you. I don’t want to invade your privacy.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that Clarke. I’m so used to everyone knowing so much about me, making assumptions about me based on my job.”

“Well I’m not interested in making assumptions. I want to know _you_.”

“I own Trikru Munitions. We’re the world’s second largest aerospace, defense, security and technologies companies. We build weapons of mass destruction that we sell to militaries, governments, and security companies all over the world. But I want you to know that is not _me._ That is the company that I own, but I am desperately trying to change it. We have projects going that will make the world a better place instead of destroying it. I was disgusted by the family business all my life, but my parents died and suddenly it was mine. Please don’t judge me.” Lexa is worked up and staring at the floor. 

“Lexa. I’m not judging you. That’s definitely not what I imagined you did for a living but you shouldn’t be ashamed. You don’t like it and you’re trying to change it for the better. I can’t judge you for that.” By this time, Clarke has her hands on Lexa’s shoulders, reassuring her. “Tell me about the projects you’re working on?”

At this, Lexa positively lights up. “Lack of safe water and sanitation is the single largest cause of illness in the world. We’re developing a water treatment system that can be run by bicycles. I want to give away the plans for free. Clean water shouldn’t be a luxury.” Lexa grabs Clarke’s hand and pulls her to the balcony where a telescope sits, pointed at the sky. “And this.”

“You’re making telescopes?”

“No! We’re working with SpaceX to go to Mars. Our propulsion technology is the best in the world, and soon to be best in the solar system. And we’re creating a documentary about the whole thing. Once we have people living on Mars, our knowledge of space will grow exponentially and we’ll use that new information to change our lives here on Earth.”

“Holy shit, that’s incredible! When I was a kid I would pretend that I was living in a space station. Very cool!”

“Yeah, I want to make the world brighter, not darker.”

“I believe you will, Lexa.” They hear knocking at the door, the room service attendant must be here to deliver the food. “Um, I should hide. People will talk, you know. Is it alright if I use the restroom while they’re here?”

“Of course, I’ll get everything set up.” Lexa walks to the door and, when she knows Clarke is safely out of sight, opens it to allow the attendant to roll the cart inside. 

Clarke waits to hear Lexa say goodbye and for the door to click. She walks back out to the kitchen to find a massive spread of breakfast food on the counter - fruit, pancakes, waffles, an omelet, sausage, bacon, muffins, milk, juice, and coffee.

“Oh my god, Lexa! You have to stop doing this! Who’s going to eat all this?!”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t help myself! Just dig in.”

Clarke purses her lips and gives Lexa a stare down before grabbing a plate and dishing up. A little bit of everything will do and a glass of pomegranate juice. The massive kitchen island has several stools to create an eating area so she sets her plate down and waits for Lexa. The brunette sits next to her but Clarke is utterly disappointed. On her plate, Lexa has half a grapefruit and two strips of bacon. 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to eat? I have a heaping plateful and that’s all you’re having?”

Lexa scrunches her shoulders like a shy puppy. “I already ate before I got home.”

“Lexa!” Clarke shakes her head and instead of scolding Lexa anymore, she decides she’s too hungry. And the grumble in her stomach insists she eats the delicious food in front of her.

Between bites, Lexa asks Clarke about art school and where she grew up, how she came to work at Polis in the first place. 

Clarke asks her what her favorite part of her trip to France was. “Having my driver slam on the brakes so I could run through a field and pick lavender.”

“What?! You did not! They sell it in markets everywhere, why would you do that?” 

“Ruined a good pair of brogues, too. But it was worth it” Lexa winks at Clarke before taking a bite of bacon. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Clarke asks, overwhelmingly aware of that Lexa’s knee is touching hers. 

“You’re just going to have to let me be,” Lexa replies with a wide grin. She stands and starts clearing her place. Walking back around the counter she asks, “Do you want anything else before I stick it in the fridge?”

“No way, I’m stuffed. I can’t eat another bite.” Clarke pushes back from the counter and leans back into her chair. She very nearly pats her belly, but holds back. “What time is it?”

Lexa looks at the black watch on her wrist, “11:16.”

“It’s getting really late, I should go. Thank you for breakfast. I don’t think you’ll need to get groceries anytime soon.” 

“See it’s all worth it! Do you need a ride home?”

Clarke thinks for a moment, “You know what, yes! I would love a ride home. If I don’t let you, you’ll just have a private train car waiting for me when I get to the station.”

Lexa puts her hands up in surrender, “You’re right. If you had said no, I probably would’ve tried to make some calls just in case it was possible. Besides, can you blame me for asking? I’d be ashamed of myself if I did not at least offer to give the beautiful woman who spent the night in my home a ride.”

“Maybe you should be here next time,” Clarke replies, surprised by her own audacious flirting. 

“Maybe.” Lexa pauses with the quirk of an eyebrow. “I’ll go check the hallway for Raven. If it’s clear, I’ll go to the residential elevator and call it up. Come out when you’re ready.”

Lexa grabs her keys from the counter and peeks her head out the door. “The ladder’s still there but Raven’s gone. I’ll meet you by the elevator.”

Clarke quickly scans the living room and studio area for anything that might be hers though she’s pretty sure she only brought her phone and purse. 

She slowly opens the front door and scans the hallway just in case Raven came back. The coast is clear so she heads over to Lexa by the waiting elevator. Just as their doors are closing the service elevator on the far side of the hallway opens. They’re too far apart to know for sure, but for just a second, Clarke and Raven lock eyes. Just in case, Clarke shoots off a quick text, “Let’s talk tonight.”

//

Having bypassed the lobby, the elevator stops on the bottom level, the underground parking area for residents. Lexa allows Clarke to step off the elevator first and only a few steps away is the iconic Jaguar. “I think this is the sexiest car I’ve ever seen. You know, Sebastian drives this same type of car in Cruel Intentions.”

“It _is_ that same car. Do you want to drive?” Lexa is jingling the keys to entice Clarke.

“Absolutely not! And what do you mean it’s the same car?”

“I mean it _is_ the same car. I was crazy about that movie when I was younger and loved this car. I found the collector who lent it to the movie and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. And I should rephrase - I loved the aesthetic of that movie, but otherwise thought the characters were assholes.”

Clarke is struck by the roller coaster that went through her head in the last 5 seconds. First she finds out she’s about to ride in the famous car from a movie she used to love, then she finds out Lexa was crazy about the movie she recently realized sent a terrible message, then relieved to find Lexa had those same feelings. _Phew!_

“You mean, Ryan Phillippe and Reese Witherspoon sat in the same car I’m about to sit in.”

“Yes, though I have had the car detailed since they shot that movie in case you’re going to be searching for locks of their hair.”

“Excuse me, I’m just excited.” Clarke grabs her sunglasses out of her purse and slips them on her head. “Let’s go!”

“Yes ma’am,” Lexa says as she opens the door for Clarke, ready to take her hand in case she needs assistance sitting in the low riding vehicle. 

Clarke scoffs, “No. Don’t “ma’am” me. It makes me feel older than this car.”

“Noted.” Lexa shuts the door with a smile and walks around the front, twirling the keys in her hand. She slides into the driver seat and twists the keys in the ignition. The sound of the classic engine roars to life. 

Once on the road and Lexa understands where they’re headed, Clarke asks, “Can we play 20 questions? This is a perfect time to learn more about you.”

“Sure, but in turn, you have to answer everything you ask as well.”

“Alright. First question, how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine. How old are you?”

“Almost twenty-six.” Clarke replies with the enthusiasm of someone still in their mid-twenties. “What’s your favorite vacation you’ve ever been on?”

“Sailing. One year my mom and I sailed from Maine to Buenos Aires and back. Yours?”

“Driving Route 66 with my parents and hitting every kitschy roadside attraction along the way. Or going to Amsterdam with Raven the summer before our senior year of college.”

“I bet you got into plenty of trouble in Amsterdam. What do your parents do?”

Clarke had to pause at this. She didn’t talk about them much, even to her best friends. “My mom owns a clinic in the inner-city and my dad- my dad was killed when I was 16. He was helping my mom fix up the clinic to open and walking back from the hardware store, someone ran a red light.” Clarke shrugs. “That was it.”

“I’m sorry Clarke.”

“I’m ok, it was a long time ago. Can I ask you about your parents? We don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to. I understand. You mentioned them so off-handedly earlier, I didn’t know if I should say anything.”

“It’s alright, it’s not a secret. They were high-profile people so it’s well documented. My dad got sick when I was 19 and my mom was killed in a sailing accident when I was 21. My therapy was turning my life around and finding purpose. I think they’d be proud of me.”

“I’m sure they would be, Lexa.” They’ve both experienced great loss and know there’s nothing to say to make it better. Just mutual understanding.

After a few moments of pensive silence, Lexa tries to break the ice, “Sounds like we both have tragic superhero backstories. And superheroes need powers, what would yours be? I’d love to be able to fly.”

Clarke burst out laughing, “Well that’s one way to change the subject! Yeah, flying would be amazing, but it’s so cliche.” Lexa throws her a mock insulted look. “I think I’d want to have super brain power. Like Raven, that girl is a genius.”

“Raven? Really? What’s she doing changing lightbulbs in a hotel then?”

“Well, she graduated with an engineering degree when she was only 19, then was working for a ALIEtec for a few years. In her downtime she designed and built the leg brace she wears. It’s practically bionic. But the company considered her copious use of company supplies and resources stealing. They said they wouldn’t press charges if she agreed to stay out of the industry for five years. They even made her sign a contract.”

“Wow, I never would’ve guessed. Don’t take that the wrong way, I’ve always thought she was bright and the few times I’ve really talked to her she was clearly very intelligent. It’s a shame they blackballed her.”

“Yeah, it was really hard on her at first but she’s been designing things at home and Lincoln let’s her tinker around with odds and ends around the hotel. Once she gets back to work, she’s going to blow some minds! Maybe she’ll be on that first trip to Mars.”

“Well I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Elon.”

“Oh my god, don't even joke about that! She would flip her lid!” Clarke’s laugh drowned out the wind blowing past the car on the freeway and Lexa tried to record it in her memory. 

“Have you ever been arrested?”

“No! I’ve never been caught.” Clarke’s sly response makes Lexa laugh as well. 

“Yeah, me neither. Not for lack of trying though. I went to a military academy for years growing up and if my parents hadn’t been who they were, I’d probably be in jail by now. It’s not easy to get kicked out of a school that has your family name on three buildings.” Lexa brings the Jaguar to a slow stop. “I think this is you.”

“Ok, now that’s a story I want to hear! Tell me about it sometime?” 

Lexa just smiles, “Of course.” And just like that, the gentlewoman is outside Clarke’s door and opening it for her. “I had a lot of fun this morning, Clarke. Thanks again for the paintings.”

“It was my pleasure, Lexa. Thanks for the ride,” Clarke doesn’t hesitate to lean in to kiss Lexa’s cheek this time. 

“Anytime,” Lexa flashes a bright smile and heads back to her car. “Goodbye Clarke, I’ll be seeing you.”

The Jaguar takes off, “You will,” Clarke replies into the air.

//

“Holy shit! Tell me everything!” Raven bursts through the front door with pizza and beer. 

“Oh my god, Raven, nothing happened!”

“First of all, I don’t believe you. Second of all, TELL ME!” Raven sets the pizza and beer down on the kitchen table and takes a seat herself, ready to absorb all the juicy details.

“I painted something for her, but it got late and I accidentally fell asleep. She gave me a ride home this morning. It was nothing.” Clarke sits as well and tries to stop fidgeting. 

“You painted for her? You’ve never even painted for me. That’s not nothing, Clarke. The lady doth protests too much, methinks.”

Clarke takes intakes a massive breath, “Fine. She’s incredible and I like her. But we only kissed on the cheek so get your mind out of the gutter! I fell asleep on her couch and when she got home and woke me up I had been drooling. Not exactly the impression I’d like to have made.”

Raven nearly falls out of her chair laughing. “Drooling?! Jesus roller skating Christ, Clarke! I can’t believe she didn’t jump you right then and there.”

“Thank you, Rae. Rub salt right into the wound, would ya.”

“I’m sorry, Clarkey but that is priceless!”

Clarke grabs the six pack and heads to the living room, “Can we just watch the damn movie so I can go to bed and forget this ever happened?”

 

“You mean rub one out so you never forget it?” Suddenly a couch pillow comes hurling into the kitchen, smacking Raven square in the head.

“Hey now! Save that feisty passion for Ms Woods.” Raven only hears a loud grumble in response.

//

Two weeks have gone by and and Clarke looks out for Lexa every chance she gets, though their paths, unfortunately, have barely crossed. 

“Octavia, I’m taking a 15 minute break. Do you want anything from Grounder Cafe? I need some caffeine if I’m going to make it through the rest of this lousy day.”

“Actually, Lincoln already brought me one,” Octavia replies shyly. They hadn’t discussed the ‘snogging in the maintenance closet’ episode yet so they were both tiptoeing around each other. Clarke didn’t have a problem with it as long as it was consensual. But they were both overthinking it too much to bring it up.

“Alright but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while I’m gone!” Clarke leaves the desk with smirk. Octavia blushing furiously. Consider it brought up, discussed, and old news.

The cafe is only a block away and the quick walk ends with an abrupt stop just inside the door. Clarke immediately recognizes the long, curly brown locks currently ordering a coffee. What catches her attention more is the way the barista is fawning over her. Jealousy washes over her like the first time she saw Lexa with Anya in the lobby. 

Lexa moves toward the end of the counter to wait for her drink, more occupied with her phone than the girl vying for her attention. Clarke steps up and quietly makes her order. She shuffles down to where Lexa is waiting for her drink, still unaware Clarke is there.

The barista calls out, “Lexa!”

Lexa turns quickly to grab her drink and nearly runs into the blonde in the process. “Well this is a surprise, Clarke.”

“It’s a surprise to see you too, Lexa. I wish I was here a minute earlier so I could’ve bought your drink.”

“Eliza,” the barista reads while side-eyeing daggers into Clarke. Clarke grabs the coffee from the counter and turns back to Lexa who’s giving her an incredulous look. 

“People always screw up my name, someone even wrote Shark once. So whenever I order I just give the name of the cashier.”

“What if the cashier is a guy?”

“Oh I’ve had my share of Joshs and Kevins.”

“Unbelievable! Very clever, Clarke, and fun.”

“Thanks!” Clarke gives a proud smile.

“I’m glad you’re working actually, I need your help again. I need to cancel the reservation you made for my assistant at the Azgeda for next week.”

“Your assistant?” A wave of relief visibly overtakes Clarke. “I’m sorry, I… I thought she was your girlfriend.” Lexa ceases pouring cream in her coffee at the mention of a girlfriend.

“Oh. Anya is my assistant… and cousin. Definitely not a girlfriend. Is that why you gave us a death glare when she visited?”

Clarke’s deer in the headlights look is doing nothing to help her keep her cool. “Umm, I was just surprised, that’s all. We’re kinda friends, you know? I was just feeling protective.”

“I see. Well no need to worry, she’s a very good friend… and related! Now, since we’re such good friends, I was going to ask if you wanted to go with me in her place, as my guest. To New York, that is. You see, Anya was going to join me at a gala but her mother, my aunt Indra, broke her leg. She’s going to stay with her mom for a while, and I have a plus one that would be a shame if it went unused.”

“I would love to go! Wait, when is it? I have to work next week, through the weekend.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. I was thinking I could talk to Mr Blake about hiring you to be my ‘assistant’. ‘Hiring you’ is so not the right phrase but could be the way we convince Mr Blake. Of course, you don’t have to come. I don’t want you to feel obligated or-”

“No! I would love to go! Truly, but Mr Blake is a pretty hard sell.”

“Oh, I can be pretty convincing. Just leave it to me.” Lexa gives Clarke a conspiratorial smirk. “I have an errand to run, but I can talk to him later today if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure!”

“Alright then. I’ll be seeing you, Clarke.”

“Bye Lexa.” 

// 

An hour goes by and Clarke’s restless. How is she going to get off work next week to join Lexa in New York as her guest? Or is she her date?

She’s in the middle of highlighting a map for the Marshall family when she looks up to see Lexa walk in. Lexa gives her a signature wink and heads across the lobby toward Mr Blake who’s speaking to a bellman.

“Excuse me, Mr Blake. Can I have a word?”

“Certainly Ms Woods! Roan, don’t forget to take Ms Johnson’s dry cleaning to her suite.” The bellman nods in understanding and heads toward the guest elevators. “Now Ms Woods, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks as he leads them toward the chairs in the lobby.

“Mr Blake, I wonder if I could ask you a favor,” Bellamy’s inquisitive look is all Lexa needs to proceed. “You see, my assistant was supposed to join me on a business trip next week, but unfortunately a family emergency requires her attention. This leaves me without an assistant. Now I’ve been witness to the great service your concierge Clarke has provided to guests and residents of this fine hotel. I wonder if I may employ her services while on my trip?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Ms Woods. You would like her to join you on the trip?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Friday through Sunday next week. Of course, I’ll cover all of her travel expenses and her wage during that time. I understand this is short notice so I’ll gladly cover any overtime expenses required to cover her shifts. Clarke would be an invaluable asset for me on this trip.”

Bellamy is taking it all in. This is very unusual request, but Ms Woods is a special resident. “Of course. I’m happy to make Clarke available. But on the condition of her consent. She’s an employee, but this isn’t exactly in her job description.”

“Certainly, I wouldn’t want her to be taken advantage of or feel uncomfortable. Would you like to ask her? I’ll wait here as to not impose.”

Bellamy agrees and heads toward Clarke who’s doing a bad job at trying to look unaware of what’s going on. “Clarke. I was just speaking with Ms Woods who has a proposition for you. She needs assistance on a business trip and-”

“Yes! I mean... is there any way I can help?” _Chill the fuck out, Clarke!_

“Well, she’d like you go with her. You are scheduled to work during that time so I don’t want you to be put out by her request. This is above and beyond what is required of you.”

“Oh no, I think that would be just fine. It would make a good impression for Polis. I’m sure a lot of her colleagues could be future guests.” 

“Well that’s great thinking, Clarke. I really appreciate you going the extra mile for the hotel.”

“Yes, sir. Anything for The Polis Hotel. I’m sure it won’t be too bad. Ms Woods seems nice enough.”


	5. Chapter 5

Eight days later a white Range Rover pulled up in front of Clarke and Raven’s apartment. “I still can’t believe you’re going to be Ms Woods’ escort in New York Fucking City!”

“Jesus Raven! I am not her escort. It’s not like that. We’re friends, that’s it.”

“Sure, Jan.”

Clarke rolled her eyes so hard the apartment nearly tipped over and took that as her cue to get out of there and into the waiting vehicle. The driver held the backseat door open for the blonde and grabbed her over-packed suitcase and stuffed it in the trunk. 

A twenty minute drive brought them to a small airfield on the outskirts of DC. A crimson Gulfstream G650 sits on the runway, door open and stairs unfolded to the ground. Lexa descends the few steps wearing a light blue button up tucked into white slacks. Brown saddle shoes round out the perfectly tailored ensemble.

Clarke is in awe. A private jet. Lexa Woods. _What are you getting yourself into, Clarke?_

“Good morning, Clarke,” Lexa swoops in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and grabs her bag, thanking the driver. “Are you ready for this?”

“Definitely!”

Lexa follows Clarke up the stairs admiring her long legs running for days out of her short black and white shorts, careful not to ogle.

Clarke is keenly aware of the eyes on her and she considers it a mission accomplished. “I’ve never ridden on a private jet before.”

“If you’d prefer, we can cram into the coach section of a commercial flight.”

“Not a chance!” Clarke’s now admiring the cabin of the jet. White leather seats, a wet bar, and luxurious wood finishes. 

“Well make yourself comfortable, it’ll be a 45 minute flight and we’ll take off in just a few minutes. Do you need anything? Water?”

“No I’m fine, Lexa. Thank you, this is amazing,” Clarke says, taking it all in.

“I’ll be right back.” Lexa heads to the cockpit presumably to speak with the pilot. Clarke thinks for just a moment that _she’s_ actually the pilot, but she shakes the thought from her head. Lexa’s incredible but being a pilot would just be over the top. 

Lexa comes back and stops at the wet bar, grabbing a bowl of fruit and a water for herself. “Buckle up, we’ll be in the air in just a minute.”

The women choose seats facing each other with a small square table between them. The takeoff was smooth and soon they were at cruising altitude. 

“So what’s on the schedule for this weekend? I really should’ve asked more questions. I vastly overpacked, but I realized I think I’ll be underdressed for the gala.” Clarke had fretted for days about what to pack but was too nervous to ask Lexa.

“As soon as we get there, we’ll stop at my house and you can get settled. I do have a meeting to run to, but I have something special planned for the evening.” A realization strikes her. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if you wanted to stay at my house as opposed to a hotel. Anya doesn’t like staying there so I always set her up at the Azgeda. Would you prefer to stay there?”

“No, I’d love to stay with you! I actually figured I’d be at the Azgeda but I really do hate hotels. They’re so impersonal to me. Why doesn’t Anya like staying at your house?” Clarke’s confused by this. If Lexa and Anya are so close, why wouldn’t she stay with her in her home. She can’t imagine Lexa’s New York house is as tiny as a shoebox.

“Well, that’s just it. She thinks it’s _too_ personal. It’s the house I grew up in with my parents. Without them there, she thinks she’s intruding on this sacred space of mine. It really isn’t. If anything it’s more depressing being there alone.”

“Then I definitely would prefer to stay with you. I think we’d both be more comfortable.” Clarke punctuates her decision with nod and admires the relieved smile on Lexa’s face. “So about this meeting, is there anything I can do to help. I am your assistant after all.”

“No, Clarke you’re my guest, not my assistant. That’s all a ruse to steal you away from work. Not put you to it.”

“I know, but I still want to be helpful if I can. Put me to good use,” Clarke’s expectant eyebrows give a wiggle.

“I appreciate that, Clarke, but today’s meeting won’t be much fun for you. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself.” Lexa pops a raspberry in her mouth. 

“Alright, but the offer stands.” Clarke accepts defeat and leans back in her chair, not opposed to at least enjoying the rest of the flight. “You know, when you went into the cockpit before we took off I thought you just might be the pilot. I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Lexa laughs, “Not anymore. That was lifetimes ago. But I’m always up for new hobbies, maybe I’ll take it up.”

“What do you mean not anymore? Not in this lifetime?” Clarke is perplexed and it shows. 

Lexa shrugs, “I mean I was a pilot in a past life, but not this one,” she states unequivocally.

“Let me get this straight. Are you talking about another place and time you lived another life? You actually believe in reincarnation?”

“I’m sure of it. I’ve lived a hundred lives, maybe thousands. Sometimes in tandem. Sometimes in the future. They’re all defined by love though. Once I fell in love with a fierce sky princess, another time I was a soldier and met her in an airport, a celebrity, a childhood friend. One time we even fought zombies together. It’s always the same person. We’re soul mates. We keep finding each other.”

“Which life are you living now? What love story defines this one?” Clarke’s nearly on the edge of her seat, enthralled with this concept. Enthralled with Lexa. 

Lexa’s answer is on the tip of her tongue when the pilot announces over the intercom, “Sorry to disturb you ladies, we should be landing soon but it seems we’ll be entering a bit of rough air. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened and prepare for landing.”

Clarke is thrown by the interruption. She sits back staring into Lexa’s green eyes trying to read her. _Did it sound crazy, the concept of soulmates and reincarnation? Or did it make perfect sense?_

It started with a few small bumps, but soon Clarke was grasping the table between them. The swaying and dancing of the plane startled her more than she expected. By the time it calmed and she opened her eyes, she realized Lexa was leaning forward with her hands on each of Clarke’s. 

“It’s ok, you’re safe,” Lexa is staring back at her now in concern, her comforting grip not letting up.

“I… yeah. All I could think of was this tiny plane spiraling to the ground.”

Lexa laughs, “Well in all my lifetimes, they’ve never ended in a fiery plane crash. ‘Touch wood’.” Lexa raps the knuckles of one of her hands on the wooden table. Then slowly sits back, finally breaking her grasp on Clarke’s other hand. 

A feeling hits Clarke like a ton of bricks at the moment their touch ceases. She can’t interpret what exactly it means but the loss of Lexa’s hand on hers awoke something in her that she can’t describe.

Lexa unfastens her seatbelt and quickly grabs a bottle of water for Clarke since she still seems shaken from the turbulence. Half the bottle is empty by the time Clarke comes up for air. 

//

The plane is on the ground soon after and they’re exiting the jet. Lexa heartily greets a waiting driver with a hug. “Clarke, this is my old friend Nyko Teak. Nyko, this is my guest Clarke Griffin.”

“Good afternoon, Ms Griffin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Nyko and Clarke meet each other with expectant handshakes. 

“You as well Mr Teak. Thank you.” 

“‘Mr Teak’, I like that! Lexa, you should bring her around more often”, Nyko grins.

“Nyko, you haven’t let me call you that in 15, maybe 20 years. You said it made you sound more like an _antique_.” Lexa opens the rear driver side door of the Range Rover, identical to the one in DC, for Clarke and gestures, “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Clarke takes her waiting hand and Lexa helps her into the vehicle. Once the door is closed, Lexa joins Nyko to help with the luggage. 

Lexa quickly rejoins Clarke in the back seat and Nyko whisks them off the tarmac. There’s a comfortable silence in the car but Lexa eagerly asks Nyko about his family. “Did your daughter make the U14 team?”

Nyko beams, “She did! Lexa, you would be so proud. She scored two goals in her first game last week!” He flipped the sun visor down in front of him and pulled out a picture to hand to Lexa. On it was a ten year old looking girl with a black jersey that said “Nightbloods”. She had a messy ponytail and massive grin to compliment the soccer ball under her arm and grass stains on her knees. 

Lexa chuckles, “Doesn’t Emori look fierce?” She leans toward Clarke so they both get a good look. 

“She sure does. She’ll be on the Women’s National Team in no time, Nyko. You can see it in her eyes!”

“Well, I can believe that. She’s tenacious and stubborn just like her Aunt Lexa.” Nyko catches the slight look of confusion on Clarke’s face. “I’ve been working for the Woods family for over 25 years. Lexa is a great big-sister type for Emori. Taught her everything she knows.”

“She taught me quite a bit along the way too, I can tell you that.” Lexa takes another good look at the picture, smile creeping across her lips before handing it back to Nyko.

//

The drive went faster than Clarke realized. Soon the Range Rover was parked in front of an Upper East Side brownstone half covered in Ivy. The massive four story townhouse was easily a 100 years old and situated in an affluent neighborhood. 

Lexa and Nyko carried the luggage up the stairs to the front door and Clarke followed behind. Nyko lets Lexa know he’ll be waiting out in the car when she’s ready to leave for her meeting.

Clarke has already started taking in the view of the rooms visible from the foyer when Lexa steps up beside her. “Can I give you the quick-quick tour before I head out?” Clarke nods happily. She follows Lexa, who’s carrying their luggage, up two flights of stairs. They walk into a bedroom with sleek modern furnishings. “This is your room and the bathroom is right across the hall. There are five other bedrooms, two offices, six bathrooms, a library, one and a half kitchens, a wine cellar, a movie theater, and, of course, formal and semi-formal living and dining rooms. You’re welcome to snoop as much as you like until I get back. I should be home around five and then we can catch a bite to eat before our evening plans. Please just get settled and relax. Make yourself at home.”

“Are you sure you’re not going to tell me what we’re doing tonight?” Clarke asks, not expecting the real answer.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

//

Clarke spent the next two and a half hours actually snooping. Raven would be so proud. Not full on snooping, snooping. Just looking around. Opening doors, looking at pictures, sitting on all the chairs… well almost all of them. Big houses have an absurdly large amount of chairs.

To her surprise, the mansion was more or less completely ordinary. Yes, there were expensive works of art and ornate wood finishes, but it was just a home. No crazy technology, no butlers, no ginormous paintings of the family looking like royalty, nothing over the top. This was the house Lexa grew up in, it was ‘lived in’, Clarke could tell. Worn-in leather sofas and armchairs. Real fireplaces. It was a home.

Eventually and by her calculations she had basically seen the entire house, even Lexa’s bedroom, which she looked at for a quick ten seconds from the doorway and promptly shut the door and moved on. There was one room, however, she couldn’t find. The wine cellar. Cellar implies basement or underground. There were no stairs leading down below the ground floor and still no wine cellar. 

Giving up the search, Clarke has an itch to create something. Painting was out of the question and drawing wouldn’t quite satiate the itch so she set to work on something else.

//

She hears Lexa come home but doesn’t greet her, she’s busy with the finishing touches. Elsewhere in the house, Lexa is looking for her floor by floor. Clarke hears her call her name from the top floor. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair,” Clarke yells up.

Lexa stops in her tracks, spins around and heads to the balcony. Leaning over the railing and looking down at the terrace four floors below, “There you are,” she says with a smile. 

In no time, Lexa is downstairs and joining Clarke in the charming terrace. High plants surround much of the veranda creating privacy from neighbors, cushie seating surrounds a lava rock fire pit, and Clarke has a table set for two and is standing in front of the grill. “Are you cooking?”, Lexa asks.

“I know you said we would go out to eat, but I felt inspired and wanted to do something for you. I hope it’s alright.” 

“Of course, thank you! It smells amazing. What is it?” Lexa comes up behind her to take a look over Clarke’s shoulder.

“No peeking! It’s almost finished.” Clarke shoos Lexa away with the spatula. “Hey, you said there was a wine cellar. I did not find a wine cellar in all my snooping!” Clarke has her back to the grill blocking the view with her hands on her hips, tapping her toes in jest. 

Lexa just smiles. “Well, Gordon Ramsey, if you have a moment I can show you.” Her teasing eyebrow elicits a laugh from the blonde.

“I suppose I do. Turn around while I finish up here.” Lexa obliges and waits by the doorway leading back into the house. Once Clarke has the grill turned off, she quietly follows Lexa inside and to the library on the main floor. “Excuse me, these are books, not wine.”

Lexa grabs a wooden mallard on one of the shelves and gives it a twist. Clarke hears the distinct click of a latch. “Step aside please,” Lexa instructs as she gently lays a hand on Clarke’s waist, moving her a few feet to the side. 

Lexa grabs the mallard once more and pulls. The entire bookcase swings outward, revealing a staircase. 

“You have got to be kidding me, Lexa. I didn’t think anyone actually had one of these. Just spies and vampires in movies and stuff.”

“How do you know I’m not?” Lexa implores.

Clarke’s side-eye is all the answer she needs. “Well are we going down or not?”

“Certainly!” Lexa flips a light switch. “After you.”

Clarke descends the staircase and takes a moment to soak in the low lighting, ornate iron work, stone walls, and the wooden racks lining them. “Oh my god. This is… beautiful.” Clarke slowly runs her hands over the necks of the closest bottles. 

“Do you like it?” Lexa is across the room, turning on the light in the chiller.

“I love it. This is incredible. How many bottles do you have down here?”

“I’m not sure, I think there’s a capacity for 1,200 but it’s not quite full. Maybe 850 right now. So what would you like to drink with dinner?”

“Um, do you have any cheap wine? These all look way too expensive to waste on this meal.” Clarke suddenly takes her hand off the bottles realizing how valuable they must be.

“Clarke, it wouldn’t be a waste. What’s the point of having all this wine if I never drink it? Now, what kind do you like? Let’s start there.”

Clarke mulls it over, “I’m a merlot kind of girl. Dry and fruity. I know merlot gets a bad rap but-”

“I’ve got the perfect bottle,” Lexa says stepping between Clarke and a rack, facing her of course. They’re incredibly close. She reaches past and grabs one of the bottles on display. “1970 Chateau Petrus. Lush and opulent, black cherry, cinnamon, chocolate.” She extends the bottle out so they can look together. 

“Lexa, no. That bottle is almost 50 years old and must be worth thousands.” Lexa’s pleading look is all it takes. “Fine. I hope you still think it’s worth it after we eat.”

“I’m confident.”

// 

Back on the terrace, Clarke dishes up for the both of them, complimenting the entree with a side salad, and brings it all to the table where Lexa is opening the bottle to let it breathe. 

“Clarke, did you make me grilled cheese? On an actual grill?”

“Yes I did and once you take a bite, it will change your life,” Clarke announces with conviction.

“Change my life, huh? That’s a pretty bold promise.”

“Let’s just say, I’m confident.” 

Lexa feigns annoyance before promptly taking a bite. “Mmmm, mmmmm, MMMM! Oh my-,” chew, “god-,” chew, “Clarke!” The blonde could get used to these sounds. 

“Told you so. Bacon, Brie, and apricot preserves. My signature dish.” Clarke smiles and wiggles a bit in triumph. “You’re welcome.”

The next hour and a half was spent getting to the bottom of the bottle of vintage wine and in great conversation. They spoke to each other with an ease that typically came with knowing each other for years. They flirted, they laughed, and they felt connected.

Lexa checked her watch, “Well, Clarke, we better get going if we want to make it on time.” Lexa stood up and started clearing the table. 

“What if I told you I didn’t like surprises?” Clarke asked.

“Do you not?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I like surprises! But the suspense is killing me! This is New York, we could be doing anything. Am I dressed right? Am I wearing the right shoes?”

Lexa laughs, “Clarke, you are perfect. Don’t change a thing. But I will tell you if you really want to know.” 

“No! I will admit this is pretty fun. Who knows what you have up your sleeve?!”

//

Hamilton. Lexa took Clarke to see Hamilton. 

“I have to take a picture of the marquee to send to Octavia! We sing this music all day at work when the lobby is empty. She’s going to be so jealous,” Clarke gushes.

“Then she’s been jealous for a few days now. I asked her and Raven on Tuesday if you’d seen it yet. I hope that’s alright.” 

Lexa’s charming smile has Clarke shaking her head. “Lexa Woods. Sneaking behind my back to talk to my friends. Keeping secrets from me.” There was a pause and Lexa was about to apologize. “Thank you!” Clarke leaps forward to give her a hug. 

The hug lingered perhaps a bit too long to be purely gracious but it’s broken up by the chirp of Clarke’s phone signaling Octavia’s envious reply.

They’re in box seats, of course, with a perfect view of the entire stage. If Clarke’s not mistaken, Lin-Manuel Miranda pointed to them a few times while gesticulating on stage. But how could she be sure since she was so busy geeking out and trying to refrain from singing along too much. It’s not until the final applause that she catches Lexa looking at her in wonderment.

“What are you staring at?” Clarke asks, knowing the answer.

“You. I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”

“This was the best surprise ever!”

//

After the Ranger Rover dropped them back at Lexa’s, and after Clarke thanks Lexa profusely, they’re ready to call it a night. 

Standing in Clarke’s bedroom doorway, “It was my pleasure. We have a big day tomorrow so rest well, Clarke. Good night.” As they’ve grown accustomed, Lexa leans in for a simple kiss on the cheek but Clarke has other ideas. 

The blonde catches Lexa’s lips in a soft kiss. To her delight, Lexa places a hand on the small of her back, pulling her in gently. Clarke breaks the kiss to let out a sigh, their foreheads touching. 

“Good night, Lexa.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, tripped over my keyboard and smut came out.

_It’s been several minutes since their good night kiss and Clarke has changed into her PJs: a flimsy tank top and comfy booty shorts. She’s just settling on the bed when there’s a light knocking on the door. She pads over and opens it to find Lexa with a hungry look in her eyes. She steps inside and Clarke’s sure her own eyes match Lexa’s._

_Lexa’s smooth (like Clarke knew she would be) and weaves her hand in her blonde locks to pull her in for a searing kiss. It happens fast but they’re devouring each other and it’s been a long time coming._

_Clarke’s hands are everywhere but Lexa’s are strong and sure. She spins Clarke so she throws her head back onto Lexa’s shoulder and hands above her head on the wall. Lexa’s kissing down her neck from behind and Clarke’s panting already. The brunette’s arms are snaked around her and pawing her stomach, her breasts and Clarke’s knees are weak._

_Lexa licks back up her neck, breathing past Clarke’s ear and their lips catch again. It’s desperate and hungry. Lexa’s left hand is under her tank top and caressing her breasts while her right hand travels south. First stroking down her thigh heavily then scratching upwards with her nails. Clarke growls and presses her ass back into Lexa’s core._

_Clarke needs this now and widens her stance, inviting Lexa in. Lexa’s hand rakes over Clarke’s center teasingly, shorts still in the way and she pleads through her sigh. Lexa does it once more, but Clarke’s too desperate for this game. She brings her hand off the wall and grabs Lexa’s, placing it just inside her waistband. She can feel Lexa smirk triumphantly into her neck before it’s nipped with her teeth._

_Clarke’s bucking her hips back and forth seeking pressure from either direction. She brings her hand up to catch Lexa’s neck, pulling her back over her shoulder for a messy, anxious kiss._

_Their tongues battle until Lexa slips a digit between Clarke’s dripping folds and Clarke’s breathing seems to stop. It’s a silent scream and her palms are sweaty. She can’t hold herself up as easily so now she falls against the wall onto her forearms, fists clenched, Lexa in complete control and taking her._

_She’s moving achingly slow and practically ghosting over her most sensitive areas. “Lexa, I need you. Now. Please,” she begs and Lexa doesn’t waste another second. Two fingers are finally toying with Clarke’s clit and she’s nearly there, greedy for an orgasm. She’s deliciously wet and Lexa’s fingers slide inside, expertly curling up and hitting just the right spot. Clarke’s arm is back around Lexa’s neck, pulling her closer and moaning into their kisses._

_Lexa picks up her pace, working her thumb across Clarke’s throbbing clit. She’s palming Clarke’s breasts and finds the right balance of nipple play. Clarke’s moans are telling now. She’s on the brink. Then suddenly waves throw her over the edge._

She’s grinding down onto her hand on the mattress and biting her pillow, muffling the expletives and strained ‘Lexa’s coming out of her mouth. Her breathing takes a while to even out and now she’s sprawled out on her bed, alone in her dark room. “Fuck…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's a thirsty girl, what can I say.
> 
> So what did you think?


	7. Chapter 7

You know how you have a really good orgasm and are perfectly sated and sleep like a log? That’s exactly how Clarke slept.

Now the sun is peeking through the shades into Lexa’s guestroom with a slash of sunlight burning through Clarke’s eyelids. Sleepily annoyed at first then suddenly awake, visions of last night’s fantasy dancing through her head. 

The sunlight is bright enough that Clarke knows Lexa must already be awake, assuming she’s not one to sleep in. And if she had to guess was either out on a run or back already. She dresses quickly, deciding her racy PJs would be a bit salacious this early in the morning, opting for a more comfy and cute, woke up like this outfit, and a perfectly imperfect top-of-the-head morning bun to round out her look. The first time Lexa saw her after she had woken up left quite a bit to be desired so she didn’t feel any shame in engineering a better second impression.

After a quick stop in the bathroom across the hall she heads down stairs. Peeking into hallways as she passes them down the three flights of stairs and not finding the brunette so far. She reaches the kitchen on the ground level and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air. She sees a note on the island next to a large bowl of fruit and paper bag with the top rolled. The note reads: 

_Good morning Clarke,_

_The coffee is hot and the muffins are_  
_fresh baked. I should be down in just_  
_a bit. Make yourself comfortable._

_-Lexa_

Taking a seat at the island, she opens the paper bag and audibly moans at the smell of the warm baked goods. If Lexa were there to see, she would’ve found Clarke had slapped her hand over her mouth in embarrassment. Luckily for Clarke, she wasn’t.

Clarke finishes her muffin and to stop herself from reaching for another one she goes to find Lexa. Unusually energetic for this time of the day, she’s up to the fourth floor in no time. Down the hall and rounding a corner she knows leads to the master suite. 

She’s prepared to knock on the door but it’s already open. Lexa is standing there topless and turning to look directly at Clarke. She slowly raises her arms, having already started putting a shirt on, and in the second it takes for the shirt to slide down her arms and cover her body, Clarke sees everything. That second progressed in slow motion for Clarke as she shamelessly drank in the sight before her. She saw the way the kraken tattoo on Lexa’s side seemed to move when her torso extended. She saw the way her abdomen flexed. She definitely saw the way one side of the shirt seemed to catch ever so slightly when it came down over her perfect breasts. If this were a cartoon, Clarke’s eyes would be bulging out of her head and her heart beating three feet out of her chest. But this was not a cartoon and instead Clarke was standing in the doorway, eyes wide, jaw slack, and clenching her thighs. 

If she were in her right mind, she may have realized that even though Lexa may have been taken by surprise, she didn’t scramble to cover herself in shame. Clarke may have even realized Lexa dragged that second out on purpose. But Clarke was not in her right mind. In fact, Clarke was running down the stairs so fast she didn’t even hear Lexa call after her. 

Clarke runs straight downstairs and back into the kitchen. She sits back at her seat at the island but her leg is bouncing so mightily she’s back on her feet in seconds. Now pacing the kitchen, she can hear Lexa coming down the stairs at a more reasonable speed.

When she enters the kitchen, “God, Lexa, I am so sorry! I wasn’t thinking. You left the note, obviously you were getting ready, I don’t know why I would’ve come up to your room like-” 

Lexa steps in front of her to stop her pacing and places her hands gently on the outside of her shoulders. “Clarke. Calm down. I’m not embarrassed. It was... unexpected but I’m not upset.” Clarke lets out a deep breath and hangs her head. “Would you like some coffee?”

“I’m going to go take a shower.”

//

It was a long, cold shower. 

After dressing and finding a scrap of composure, Clarke heads back out. The faint melody of Nina Simone’s _Feeling Good_ pulls Clarke downstairs. She finds Lexa sitting at the vintage desk in her study, record player spinning in the corner. There’s a wall-to-wall bookshelf surrounding a cushioned window seat looking out onto the street, and an old, stylish wooden filing cabinet on the opposite wall. The walls are painted a light shade of navy and the ceiling is covered in dark wood. Several antique electric fans placed around the room added a touch of charm. This was easily Clarke’s favorite room she found in her exploration yesterday. It was warm and handsome and very _Lexa_. 

“Great song,” Clarke says leaning against the doorjamb.

Lexa looks up from her work with a soft smile, taking Clarke by surprise with her tortoise shell glasses, “Hi. How was your shower?”

Clarke titters, “It was very… cleansing.”

Lexa responds with a light laugh and a slight shake of her head, “Hey, give me just a few minutes so I can finish up with a few emails and we can plan the rest of the day. Is that alright?”

“Of course, take your time.” Clarke enters the room and examines the leather bound books on the shelf, running her fingertips along their spines. They’re not all rare, though many are. There are books on architecture, artwork, and history. The vintage fans separating the categories of books are perhaps an odd thing to collect but fit perfectly within Lexa’s brownstone aesthetic. 

Taking a seat in the window she opens a book about art deco architecture and design. Thumbing through the pages, she studies the lines of skyscrapers, murals, and sculptures within; Nina Simone still crooning away. 

_Ne me quitte pas_  
_Il faut oublier_  
_Tout peut s'oublier_  
_Qui s'enfuit déjà_  
_Oublier le temps_  
_Des malentendus et le temps perdu_  
_À savoir comment_  
_Oublier ces heures_  
_Qui tuaient parfois à coups de pourquoi_  
_Le cœur du bonheur_  
_Ne me quitte pas_  
_Ne me quitte pas_  
_Ne me quitte pas_  
_Ne me quitte pas_

“This song is so beautiful,” Clarke says without realizing. “What’s it about?”

“She’s pleading, ‘do not leave me’. Something happened between the lovers and she’s begging and desperate to stay together. ‘I will offer you pearls made of raindrops’. ‘I’ll create a kingdom and you will be Queen’. ‘Do not leave me’,” Lexa explains wistfully. 

“She’s got it bad.” Lexa just laughs.

“She does. Though some people say it’s not a love song. Heartbreak yes, but that the singer is a coward instead. Love is their weakness.”

“And what do you think?”

After a pause, letting the song play out, “I suppose there are ways to fight for love that don’t include begging ‘do not leave me’. Suppose they’re leaders of warring clans with duties to their people far more consequential than their love for each other. Perhaps vowing fealty and saying that despite the inevitable we could still love each other. I will always love you anyway. Maybe they can be apart, against each other even, and still be together spiritually. ‘I know you have to leave me but _maybe someday_ ’. Does that make sense?”

If Clarke had known any better, she would’ve thought Lexa had some experience she was pulling that sentiment from. ‘Warring clans’, really? She may have noticed the twinge in her own heart upon hearing it. _Maybe someday_. 

In the silence of Clarke’s introspection, Lexa gives a little chuckle under her breath. “But if you’re not listening closely, it kind of sounds like she’s singing ‘Let me keep the pie’.” Now in a deeper, yearning voice, “‘Let me keep the pie, Let me keep the pie’.”

Clarke is stunned and staring at Lexa in disbelief. _Did she really just do that?_ Then she bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, Lexa. Does this song make you hungry for pie?”

“Clarke, I’m always hungry for pie. Why do you think I run so much? So I can eat pie whenever the opportunity presents itself! One can only hope there will be some tonight at the gala!”

“Well for your sake, I hope there is.” Clarke readjusts herself in the window seat. “Speaking of, I was thinking- I think I want to go find a new dress for tonight. I just- I’m feeling like what I brought won’t be nice enough.”

“Oh Clarke, I’m sure it’s perf-” Lexa’s interrupted as she gets up from her chair and walks around the the side of her desk, leaning on the edge, and taking off her glasses.

“Yeah, I know but I want it to be better.”

“Ok, we can certainly go out and find what you’re looking for. But I must insist-”

“I know where this is going…”

“Clarke, I must insist that I pay for it. I didn’t ask you to be my date to a formal gala in New York City for you to have to spend any money. I couldn’t-”

“Your date?” Clarke asks hesitantly. 

“I mean, if you want to be,” Lexa has never sounded so shy.

“Yes!” Clarke hops up from her seat, “Yes, I was hoping this was a date. I just wasn’t sure.”

“Yeah, I was hoping it would be too but I wasn’t really sure if you were into me like that. Until last night that is. And I don’t just mean the kiss.” Clarke furrows her brow trying to remember what else happened last night. “Clarke, I have to confess something… I heard you last night… after we said good night.”

 _Oh shit!_ Lexa continues, “I came back to tell you that if you woke up early, I might be out on a run. When I got to your door to knock, I heard you calling my name but, uh… But I could tell by the tone in your voice…” she trails off.

Clarke swallows painfully, “Excuse me just one second.” She turns around in her place, grabs a pillow from the window seat, places it flush against her face, and promptly screams into it. Of course Lexa can clearly see and hear, though muffled, exactly what’s happening just a few feet in front of her. Any modicum of dignity Clarke had when she entered this room has vanished. She gently places the pillow back down, stands up straighter than ever breathing deep, slowly turns back to Lexa and, “Ok, well…”

“So about that dress!” Lexa saves her from having to speak any more about the unspeakable thing that happened last night. “Anything in mind?”

//

After Lexa made her lunch _(of course this binch can cook too)_ , after she talked to Clarke about some of the family pictures around the house, after she told her about the one time she tried to sneak out to see a pretty girl but accidentally set off the alarm which immediately sent a patrol car and woke the neighbors, after all that, Nyko pulled up to take Clarke shopping for a new dress. 

If Lexa insisted on paying, Clarke would insist she let the dress be a surprise. Clarke also insisted on sitting in the front seat beside Nyko for the ride, getting in only after she gave Lexa one of their signature kisses on the cheek.

Traffic was as abysmal as could be expected so she passed the time talking to Nyko and trying to get the dish on Lexa. He explained that Lexa prefers to sit in the front seat as well. That he had been her personal driver since she was a child. That he attended every soccer game and every violin recital of her life. That his family had an open invitation to visit any of her vacation homes any time they’d like. That Lexa attended as many of Emori’s games as she could and sponsored the league. And that even though she was spending less and less time in New York, she paid him so handsomely that neither he nor his wife needed to work. That the little time he spent driving Lexa nowadays was a treat for them both to catch up and see each other. 

Clarke took it all in. Lexa was an outrageously wealthy woman, consummate do-gooder, and was for some reason into her.

Nyko could read Clarke like a book, “You’re freaking out aren’t you?”

“It’s just- What am I doing here? Why would Lexa invite me? Spend tons of money on me and what do I have to offer? Why is she interested in me?” _Think Clarke. Dig deep. You know why._ “Am I a toy? Is this a game for her?” _Goddammit Clarke, you know that’s not it!_

“Clarke, I have known Lexa nearly all her life. That’s not the type of person she is,” he pulls over in front of a shop, “Lexa is the type of person who has people falling over her constantly. Women pursue her to no end. You’d think with that power, with that opportunity, she would take advantage of it. But I can tell you that in all my years, going back to her kindergarten days, there is only one girl Lexa ever brought with her. In my thousands and thousands of drives, it was only the one. They were together a long time and it ended over ten years ago. There’s been no one. This is not a game for her. After Costia… All I’m saying is if she brought you here, if she’s showing interest in you, she thinks you’re special. That’s a big deal for her.

“I know the money can be intimidating,” Nyko continues, “I’ve been around this family’s unimaginable wealth for decades. When Lexa inherited her parent’s fortunes you’d expect she lived a lavish lifestyle, parties, yachts, scandals… She was nothing like that. She lost her love and her parents within a few years of each other. She was broken. She was afraid she didn’t have much time left herself. But she’s dedicated her life to making the world a better place. She anonymously donated the vast majority of her inheritance to organizations around the world.” Nyko pauses. Lexa was like a daughter to him and he was so proud of her. “And she’s put up with me all these years! Lexa’s special too.”

“I know. I can tell. Thanks Nyko,” Clarke says as she grabs his hand to squeeze.

“My pleasure,” he squeezes back. “So here’s my number. Once you’re ready to go, just give me a call and I should be out here in five minutes. If you need to look around more, I have a few more places in mind. We have a few hours before we need to be back if you want time to do your hair and makeup. Otherwise, we can stop at a salon. Lexa said whatever you need.”

//

When Clarke entered the boutique, “Hello, are you Miss Griffin?”

Taken aback, Clarke replies, “Uh, yes?”

“Welcome Miss Griffin! We’re so delighted to have you visit us today. We have a special fitting room set up for you and Niylah will be your personal stylist. She’ll assist you in finding the perfect dress for your occasion.” The woman was almost annoyingly chipper. “Would you like a glass of champagne?” 

If the blonde she understood to be Niylah hadn’t shown up and introduced herself as calmly and genuinely welcoming as she had, Clarke would still be stuck in the entrance overwhelmed.

“Clarke, have you ever been shopping like this before?” Niylah asks as she leads Clarke back into the oversized dressing room. There are mirrors all around, plush chairs, and a small platform in the center of the room.

“This is definitely a first. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Clarke replies and chews on her lip.

“Well, the only thing you need to do is try some stuff on and if you like something, take it home with you! I’m here to do the rest.” Niylah motions for Clarke to take a seat and she sits opposite her. “So what is the occasion?”

“It’s a fundraising gala tonight and I’m afraid I’ll be underdressed.”

“No worries Clarke, you’re in the right place, but it sounds like we don’t have much time. So what is your date wearing? What’s his style?”

“Well, actually, I’m not sure what _she_ is wearing, but I would assume a suit.”

Niylah smiled and shook her head slightly, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. People always do that to me too and it drives me crazy. My girlfriend even punched a guy once! I apologize.”

Clarke instantly felt more relaxed, “That’s a good girl to have!”

“So she’ll be in a suit most likely, but what would you like? That’s what’s most important.”

“I’m not sure. I had a simple black dress picked out but now I want something more. Not too frilly or too flashy. Something understated that-”

“Shows off your curves?” Niylah inquires, raising her eyebrow.

“Yes!”

“It would be a shame if you didn’t, Clarke. I have a few dresses in mind and I’ll grab a few others too. Just wait here, enjoy your champagne, and I’ll be right back!” Niylah gets up to leave, ready to head back into the main part of the store.

“But don’t you need my size, my measurements?”

“Clarke, I’m a pro. I got this!”

//

Before Niylah came back, Clarke got Raven on FaceTime. “Ok Clarkey, we need to find you a dress that makes Lexa’s panties disintegrate, something that shows off your twin peaks, something that-”

“Ok Raven! I got it!” Niylah walks in with a smirk on her face, rolling rack of dresses in tow. “Raven this is Niylah,” Clarke says as she pans her phone over to the other blonde. 

Niylah waves back, “Hi Raven! Are you ready for the fashion show?”

“Yeah buddy! But don’t start yet, Octavia’s on her way too!” 

Clarke props the phone up on a table, making sure to keep the platform and the back mirrors in frame. “Raven, I don’t want to get you guys in trouble at work.”

“Don’t even worry about it Clarkey, Bellamy owes Octavia a few favors so he can suck it and Lincoln is so whipped he’ll will do whatever she says so we’re good! Here she is now!” A chorus of ‘hey’s go around and Raven and Octavia settle in like they’re going to watch a movie.

“Ok, Clarke, I thought we’d start with a few random styles just so we can eliminate them right off the bat. Or maybe you’ll see something you didn’t think you’d like, is that ok?”

“Niylah, I am at your mercy.”

She handed over the first dress from the rack and Clarke took it behind the privacy curtain. When Clarke came out to stand on the platform, she had the other blonde help zip her up.

As soon as she enters the frame Raven and Octavia immediately start laughing, “Oh my god, what is it? Do I look terrible?”

“Clarke, have you looked in the mirror? Is that dress blue and black or white and gold?” Octavia laughs through her response.

She faces the mirror and looks at herself fully. It’s that goddamn dress from the internet. “I’m sorry Clarke, I just wanted to loosen you up. Here, this is a real one I want you to try on.” Niylah hands over a different dress, it’s heavy on the hanger with swirls of silver and pink sequins. While it’s beautiful and she undoubtedly she looks good in it, it’s not quite right.

What followed was a veritable dressing room movie montage. Complete with Raven’s infamous one liners and a Missy Elliott soundtrack.

“Clarke, you need to carpe the fuck outta this diem.” “Niylah, find something sexier. We’re not even in the general vicinity of fucking around.” “Ain’t no shame, Clarkey do your thang!” You get the idea…

An hour and a half and fourteen dresses later, “Whoa! Hubba, hubba!” Raven motions like she’s pulling a pair of glasses back and forth from her face. “This is the one.”

“Are you sure? No joking, Raven. Does my butt look ok?”

“Clarke, trust me. Your butt is no joke and that’s some damn good earth cleavage!” It’s true. This was the one. This red dress hugged her curves perfectly and cut off at her knees. The cutouts in the back showed the right amount of skin and Raven was right, her tits looked amazing.

“For real though? Are you sure I shouldn’t go back to that shorter sparkly one with the short sleeves?”

“Clarke. I am telling you this is the one. And besides, never look back darling. It distracts from the now!”

“Octavia, do me a favor and punch her. Hard.”

Niylah chimes in, “She’s right Clarke. You’re a knockout. She’s going to be lucky to have you as arm candy.”

“Pssshh, she’s going to be _my_ arm candy,” Clarke quips as she checking herself out in the mirror looking back over her shoulder.

“Damn girl! Get it!” Octavia hollers, giddy with excitement on Clarke’s little phone screen.

“Niylah, I’ll take it!” Clarke changes out of the dress quickly and hands it to the woman along with the black Centurion American Express card Lexa had given her.

“Excellent, I’ll have it wrapped for you up front. We can pick out shoes, jewelry, and clutch too. Come out whenever you’re ready.”

After Niylah’s left, Clarke considers something she thought she had put out of her mind, “Do you guys think it’s weird Lexa’s spending so much money on me? Like should I-”

“Clarke,” Raven interrupts, “listen, she’s not Pretty Womaning you. I mean, I know you and I can tell you’re a sure thing for her but not because of her money. Well I guess she is Pretty Womaning you but not like you’re a sex worker and she’s trying to shine you up for the ball. But she is Pretty Womaning you because you’re a pretty woman and she likes you and if I was dating a billionaire-”

“Raven you stopped making sense, like, thirty seconds ago but I think I understand what you mean.”

“But I am serious. There are going to be some gay ass violins playing when she sees you and if for some god forsaken reason she wasn’t in love with you before-”

“And Clarke,” Octavia adds, “you need to update us ASAf’nP how the night goes. Good luck!”

//

After the boutique, Nyko dropped Clarke off at a salon. They decided she would meet Lexa at the gala rather than going back to the house. She went for a simple but striking look, soft curls and fierce eyeshadow. Of course she got a manicure, pedicure, and facial first. Nyko insisted she go for the works if she wanted to. 

The salon allowed her to dress there and she called Nyko to pull up, this time he had swapping the Range Rover for an elegant limousine. Nyko opens the back door for Clarke and takes her hand to help her in. “You look beautiful Clarke. Have a wonderful night.”

The drive was shorter than before as the gala was held only a few miles away. When the car pulled up, Lexa was waiting at the curb, hands clasped in front of her. From inside the limo, Clarke was shook. Lexa was dressed in a classic black suit, perfectly tailored with a skinny black tie, and a single band of white fabric peeking out of her breast pocket. Lexa looked dapper as fuck and Clarke heart was racing. 

When Lexa opened the door, “Hello Clarke.” If it was possible, her heart raced even faster at the way Lexa said her name. Lexa held out her hand and helped Clarke out of the vehicle. She felt like royalty. “Wow, Clarke. You look gorgeous. I mean… just wow.” The kiss Lexa left on her cheek made her melt.

“Thank you Lexa, but are you sure you don’t prefer me in my hotel uniform?” Clarke asks in jest. Honestly, she’s just trying to calm the electric charge in the air between the two of them. If she doesn’t get a handle on it now, she’s afraid she won’t make it through the night.

“Well the scarf really does bring out the blue in your eyes. I can see them from across the lobby. But this is a whole ‘nother level. I’m so happy you’re here, Clarke. That you would share this evening with me.” Clarke is blushing, not only at Lexa’s kind words but at the way she’s looking at her with reverence and joy. Lexa sticks out her bent arm, “Shall we?”

Clarke is smiling wide and gives a quick nod, not able to form words. She’s shaking only slightly when she grabs Lexa’s elbow and she seems to notice. Lexa takes her other hand and reaches across herself to gently place it on her hand.

They take the few steps up to the entrance where bellmen open the doors for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ne Me Quitte Pas - Nina Simone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Q7w7gk1JhQ)
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on tumblr at grapejuiceboobs!


	8. Chapter 8

The atrium was clearly designed to impress upon first sight. The towering columns and delicate mosaic tiling are no illusion. A dramatic domed ceiling soars over the grand staircase. Clarke’s grip on Lexa’s elbow doesn’t waver as they ascend. She hasn’t fallen down a flight of stairs since at least the last time Raven convinced her to take shots of Jagermeister, but with her luck, Lexa would be picking her up off the floor before they even made it halfway to the top.

Turns out, Clarke’s luck was on her side today. And she fucking owned it. Her heels were made for strutting up these stairs like a goddamn queen. 

And if there was one thing Clarke knew about herself, it was that when she felt confident she could command any room. Tonight was going to be no exception. The poise she could exude when she felt good could end wars, it could steal hearts, and it could break them. 

Tonight, though, it wasn’t the brand new expensive dress and it wasn’t the historic ballroom she was about to enter. Tonight it was the beating of her heart in her chest, it was the way Lexa looked at her, into her, it was the way she felt. It was the way she felt like she had done this before. Not that she had had a limo drop her off at a ritzy building where her billionaire date was waiting for her. But that she had faced the world, shoulder to shoulder, with Lexa time and time again. 

“Would you like to tour the gallery first or head into the ballroom?”

“Huh?” Clarke is pulled from her reverie. 

Lexa’s soft laugh is like a gentle hug from behind while standing in the kitchen looking out at the leaves on a fall day with a steamy cup of coffee. _Jesus Christ, Clarke! It’s a bit early to be waxing poetic._ “I asked if you want to see the auction gallery or the ballroom first. It’s up to you.”

Clarke looks around, examining the little bit of each room she can see from where they stand. An antique jade vase resting on a pedestal catches her eye. She releases her grasp on Lexa’s elbow but doesn’t lose contact. Trailing her hand down her arm, she entwines their fingers, pulling slightly as she steps backward toward the gallery, a playful smile adorning her face. 

//

“Holy shit!” Clarke slaps a hand over her mouth at the feeling of all eyes on her. She leans into Lexa, a bit more conscious of her volume, “Fourteen thousand dollar minimum bid! For a globe?! For that price it better make sandwiches too!”

“But look, this is a two hundred year old celestial globe. Hand-painted mythological figures, 3,500 individual stars. This globe was among the first ever to depict the stars of the southern hemisphere. Surely you can appreciate the artistry.”

“I know, it’s beautiful! Overwhelmingly so. I just can’t fathom spending that much money on what is now just an old, oversized paperweight.”

“Ok, so what would you pay, if you had the money, a million dollars for? An object, purely superfluous.”

“I don’t know… something very fancy that made sandwiches, obviously!”

“So a diamond encrusted panini maker?” Lexa teases. A server with a tray of champagne glasses stops to offer drinks.

“Now we’re talking!” Clarke says as she takes a glass and clinks flutes with her date. 

They peruse the gallery, lingering on a several pieces, many of which Clarke is astounded she’s in the presence of. There are three Georgia O’Keeffe paintings up for auction for Christ’s sake. Not to mention a Minolta SRT-101 owned by Annie Leibowitz and that jade vase is centuries old.

There was one piece, however, that Clarke gravitated towards. She spent a solid five minutes admiring it, not saying a word. Lexa didn’t interrupt.

When Clarke finally pulled herself out of it, she found Lexa standing relaxed just a few steps away with her hands held behind her back. They exchanged smiles, Clarke’s conveying thanks for letting her get lost in it and Lexa’s complete understanding.

//

Entering the ballroom was like entering another world. The peace and quiet of the gallery gave way to the boisterous energy of the main room. Couples dressed to the nines, small groups chatting away, and people everywhere trying to catch up with the trays of hors d'oeuvres. _Mmmmm, shrimp._

Lexa’s surely a mind reader. In an instant she politely flags down a server. Before Clarke realizes she has two skewers in her hands and one already sans shrimp. 

She’s nearly through the third one before she can finally get out, “Oh my god, Lexa, this is so delic-”

“Lexa!”, a burly man exclaims as he strides over, accompanied by a beautiful woman who simultaneously looks like she could kick your ass and give you the best advice you’ve ever received.

Lexa greets him with a generous hug, “Gustus, always good to see you!” Turning to Clarke, “Clarke, this is Gustus Birch, my mentor, and his far better half, Indra. Gustus and Indra, this is my lovely date, Clarke Griffin.” Clarke hopes her closed mouth smile isn’t mistaken as rude, but if it weren’t for her sealed lips, she’d have “seefood” to show for it. _Get it together Griffin! Lexa might think it’s adorable the way you’ve stuffed your face with snacks, but this is a fancy place and these are fancy strangers!_

“Clarke, wonderful to meet you,” Indra says cordially. Gustus opting to hug her as well. 

“Lexa brought a date? Are we in another dimension?!” A scruffy but perfectly tailored man interrupts. 

“Murphy, don’t be rude!” A tall woman with long dark hair in an impeccable pin-up girl style. “I’m Becca Pram and this schmuck is John Murphy.” 

“Clarke Griffin, nice to meet you both.” She wipes her hands quickly on the cocktail napkin before shaking their hands. 

“Actually Becca, Clarke is the artist I was telling you about.” Lexa turns to Clarke with a guilty look on her face, “I’m really sorry, I should’ve asked, but I kind of shared your portfolio with her. She’s a publisher for young adult fiction. She mentioned she was looking for an illustrator and well…” 

“Oh my gosh, it’s you! Clarke, your work is excellent. I don’t know if you’ve ever considered it, but I’d love to talk with you some time. We have a new series coming up and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your work since Lexa showed it to me.”

Clarke is stunned for a moment. Meeting four strangers and basically being offered a huge job in about a minute and ten seconds was overwhelming.

“I…yea-yes of course!”

“Great! I’ll have Lexa send you my contact info and we’ll have you come by the publishing house soon. Now Murphy, can we please continue on to the bar? We’ll be right back you guys!” And with that, they were off.

Clarke looked over to Lexa and went straight in for a hug. Lexa unsure at first, then pulling her in tighter when Clarke wasn’t letting up. “Thank you,” Clarke whispers pulling her head out of the crook of Lexa’s neck. Planting a firm kiss on her cheek.

“Ahem,” Indra coughs, reminding the women they’re not alone in the universe.

Clarke unwinds from Lexa but leaves her arm around her back. Lexa’s hesitant again, but soon places her arm around Clarke’s lower back as well. It’s an intimate and comforting feeling for them both. 

“Oh, Lexa,” Gustus starts before he motions to his cheek and pretends to wipe it off. “You’ve got lipstick on your cheek.”

Clarke cringes in the most adorable way possible, “I’m so sorry, I’ll go get you a wet cloth.”

“It’s alright Clarke, no harm. I’ll just run to the restroom. Would you like me to grab you anything to drink on my way back?” Lexa offers, not even worried about the light red smudge on her cheek.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” she replies. “Thank you.” The women part, their lingering touches would give anyone a tooth ache.

Only a few moments pass before Lexa back with drinks in her hands. “...so I said to the president, ‘I’m a crab!’’’ The group erupts in laughter as Clarke is positively radiating. Gustus’ face is red from laughing and he’s shaking his head.

Catching her breath from laughing, Indra says, “Lexa, you didn’t warn us that Clarke was hilarious. I nearly spilled my drink!” 

“Well great, now I only have the punchline,” Lexa feigns disappointment.

“Lexa, you missed a good one.” Gustus wipes the tears from his eyes. “You know Clarke, the best joke Lexa ever pulled was launching a lime green spaceship into the cosmos,” he says as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen.

“Here, here!” Murphy raises his glass.

“Ok, _listen_ ,” Lexa’s had this ‘argument’ with these two before. “It wasn’t a spaceship, it was a rocket. The most powerful orbital class rocket the world has ever seen, as a matter of fact. And it wasn’t lime green. It was optic yellow. Which just so happens to be one of the easiest colors for the human eye to see, particularly on television, which is why tennis balls are that color. And I will remind you that it’s estimated 500-million people across the globe watched it live. Now,” triumphantly, “would anyone else care to question my decisions?”

“Wait, I thought tennis balls were green,” Murphy says, entirely missing the point.

“Oh my god, forget it.” Lexa rolls her eyes and holds back a laugh. She offers Clarke the glass of champagne she brought for her. 

“Actually, I always figured tennis balls were chartreuse. But it did look good on TV!” Clarke adds with a wink.

//

Dinner was worth writing home about. Raven received a picture text of her plated meal before she took her first bite. The image of seared tenderloin, butter poached lobster tail, and baby artichoke elicited several squirting water emojis from the girl back in DC. _Classy._

“Are you having a good time?” Lexa asks sincerely.

“I really am, thank you for inviting me. Your friends have been so kind and this place is so beautiful. I’m honored you included me.”

Their gazing is interrupted by the clinking of a knife hitting a wine glass. “Thank you all so much for coming,” a man in a gray suit addresses the crowd. “This is our third year raising money for these important causes and this is a damn fine party! I would like to express a special thank you to Lexa Woods,” he says pointing his knife in her direction. If Clarke thought Lexa was capable of blushing into pink cheeks, she’d actually believe she was seeing them now. “Lexa’s the reason we’re all here tonight. Without her, these incredible organizations wouldn’t have the platform they have now to reach the world. And without her, we wouldn’t have raised $143 million dollars so far. So it’s time for you to put your money where your mouth is and ante up! There are schools to build, literacy programs to be funded, and so much more. The auction starts in ten minutes!” The excitement of the crowd bubbles into applause and cheers.

“So you’re the one,” Clarke notes turning to Lexa.

Confusion painted across Lexa’s face, “The one what?”

“Um, the one responsible for all of this.” Clarke gestures to the table covered in fine linens, glasses empty of expensive wine, and then out to everyone milling around in designer clothes.

“Oh, well, I mean I guess. It’s not like I picked out the centerpieces. A few years ago I suggested to a bunch of people we put our money to good use. The auctio-” Lexa’s cut off by Clarke’s lips crashing into hers. It’d be startling if I didn’t feel so right.

When Clarke pulls back slowly, “I’m sorry. That was- I just-” Now Clarke’s cut off, first by Lexa’s hand gently lying on her cheek and then by a soft kiss.

“Come on, let’s grab our seats,” Lexa gestures with her head toward the auction hall. Standing up, she holds out her hand for Clarke to grab. 

Once they’re seated again, Lexa begins pointing out the members of the crowd. “Bill and Melinda weren’t able to make it this year. The woman in green over there with the phone up to her ear is one of their assistants. That man over there,” she stealthily points past a few heads to the men sitting front and center, “is Marcus Kane. He owns this whole block. The man next to him is his business partner, Theo Jaha. They’ll be bickering and patting each other on the back all night. Murphy and Becca will be sitting in the back once they get in here. They love to drive the prices up. And it works really well, no one likes to be beat by someone sitting behind them, they feel vulnerable and competitive. It’s a weird psychological trick that I love them for.”

“Where do these items come from? It must cost a fortune itself just to have these items to auction off.”

“Actually, we don’t spend any money getting the items. They’re all donated entirely from museums and private collectors. You just have to have the right people talk to the right people. It’s not easy to turn down Bill Gates when he calls you personally to ask for a donation. And every dollar raised goes 100% to the organizations we sponsor each year. This is Marcus Kane’s building. He’s donating all the food, labor, decorations, everything. The price of each ticket to attend is purely to start with a base amount raised. With that alone, by the time we ate dinner $5,000,000 was already raised. No one profits off of this. That’s the most important thing.”

“Wait,” Clarke throws her hand onto Lexa’s knee, “how much did it cost for me to be here? There can’t be more than a hundred people here.” Clarke’s trying to do the math in her head and she’s starting to feel like it cost $50,000 just for her to walk through the door tonight. 

Lexa places a comforting hand on top of Clarke’s to reassure her, “Please don’t even worry about that, Clarke. No matter how much it was, it’s all for a good cause. Remember that. That’s what this night is all about.” 

//

“The bidding will start at $14,000 for lot number three, an 1821 Celestial Globe, beautifully restored, and depicting the heavens from the early 19th century,” the auctioneer explains as an assistant showcases the piece before the front row, necks craning from behind them to see better. “Do I have a starting bid of $14,000?” The man with the palm gavel sweeps his eyes across the crowd, “Thank you number 15, I see your starting bid at $14,000.”

Clarke and Lexa look to their right down the aisle to find Indra with her number 15 paddle, looking positively bored. Or maybe that’s her poker face. Beside her, Gustus looks around daring anyone to bid against her.

“Do we have $15,000? Yes $15,000 here in the front row.” Kane grins from his seat. “Do we have 16?” 

The bidding goes back and forth several times with others getting in on the action. Before they know it, Murphy’s upped the bid to $29,000. Indra’s look has gone from passive to seething. 

“We’re at $29,000 and selling. Any last bids?” The auctioneer is looking right to Indra, giving her one last chance before she raises her paddle with white knuckles gripping the handle. “Yes, $30,000 back to number 15!”

“Oh let her have it,” Murphy says to Indra’s relief.

“Alright then, $30,000 going once. Going twice. Sold to number 15, the 19th century Celestial Globe.” The moment the gavel bangs the podium, applause rings out. 

Indra turns slowly in her seat to face Murphy several rows behind her. Everyone’s leaning out of her line of sight like the parting of the Red Sea. Murphy’s playful nature sours at the look, and a heavy gulp ensues. Indra levels a glare directly at him, through him, obliterating him. When he’s sweating and turning red, Indra smiles victoriously.

Once she turns back around, Murphy vigorously loosens his tie in an attempt to catch his breath. Becca can’t contain her giggling next to him.

//

The high-stakes excitement around her is nothing Clarke has ever experienced. It’s hard not to get caught up in the anticipation of who will bid next or how high they will go. The smashing of the gavel releases this pent up energy consuming the room each round. 

Next to her Lexa has won several items, including the jade vase and a first edition of _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_. She’s asked a number of times if there is anything Clarke would like to bid on, but Clarke has declined each time. She talks her through the process and charms her with witty commentary of the other bidders. 

“Last we have Anselm Kiefer’s exquisite _Freia’s Garden_. This is a more recent work of Kiefer’s. A large scale painting of acrylic, metal, gold and silver leaf, among other mediums is captivating in size and artistry. The bidding will start at one hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars.” The auctioneer slowly enunciates each word to regain the command of the room. 

Lexa’s watching Clarke and notices her bouncing her legs anxiously. Without saying a word, she offers Clarke the paddle. 

“Lexa, I can’t afford this, you’re crazy.” The leg bouncing intensifies as Clarke shakes her head.

“You don’t have to. You see this paddle, number 13, is registered to me.”

“Do I hear $195,000?”

Lexa waves the number 13 paddle in the air, not even bothering to look up. 

“Yes, 195 in the center here. Do we have 200?”

“I saw the way you looked at it earlier, if you want it, get it.” 

“We’re at 210 now, 220 to my left, is there a 230?”

“250!” Lexa lowers the paddle cool as a cucumber, offering it to Clarke again. She looks at it from the corner of her eye, taking deep breaths to keep herself from indulging as the price continues to rise.

“Mr Gates has it on the phone at 280, is there a 290 in the room?”

Lexa’s about to raise her arm again, but Clarke stops her. “Lexa, this is crazy. You don’t have to do this. I’ve made it this far in life without a Kiefer painting, I don’t need one now.”

“This isn’t about need. This is about want. This is your chance to get it and I’m offering.”

“Do you have any idea how valuable that painting is?! It’s my hourly wage for like a million years!”

“Well then you can spend the next million years feeling good about the money being donated to worthy causes. I _know_ how much it’s worth, Clarke. If you want it, we’re not leaving here without it.”

Clarke slowly takes the paddle as if it’s fragile. _Let’s be real, she really wants that damn painting_. From the front row she hears Jaha call out a new bid. 

“300 in the front row, can we see 310? Yes, 310 on the phone.” The fluid and precise movements of the auctioneers’ hand and palm gavel swish through the air like a choreographed dance.

Clarke looks around her just to make sure she’s thoroughly seated in the real world. She catches Gustus’ eye, who looks to her encouragingly. Looking back to Lexa she doesn’t feel any pressure. If she wants it she can go get it. _Stop thinking so hard. Stop thinking so hard!_

Before she can talk herself out of it, she slowly raises the paddle. “320, wonderful! Back in the center. We’re at 320, is there a 330?”

The energy from the crowd has picked up and Clarke’s excitement is palpable. Her knee is bouncing out of control again and the paddle is shaking in her hands. 

“380!” The woman yells from the phone bidding area.

“Excellent! Mr Gates jumping the bid to $380,000.” The auctioneer looks to Clarke, awaiting a response. 

She’s looking around again. The other bidders seem to have dropped out. Indra has her hands clasped in excited suspense and Gustus is motioning for Clarke to raise her paddle again. Lexa is calm as ever. _Goddammit!_

It doesn’t take long before Murphy taunts from the back that Clarke is being cheap. Lexa quickly twists around to give him a death glare, surely something she’s learned from Indra. Murphy cowers instantly. Becca actually slugs his arm this time.

Clarke slowly raises the paddle again. Before it’s half way in the air the man with the gavel announces her $390,000 bid, startling Clarke to yank her arm down again. She can’t help but laugh at herself. At how ridiculous this whole scenario is and how far apart it is from her real life. Except this is her real life. She’s here, holding a paddle, bidding on expensive artwork, with Lexa sitting beside her. The sooner she accepts the actuality of her current reality the better for her sanity.

It’s not until she focuses her eyes again on the crowd around her to see that they’re looking to her to keep the bidding going. She completely missed the fact that _Bill fucking Gates_ upped the bid to $420,000.

All eyes are on her and the suspense is terrible for everyone. “The bid is at 430 if the pretty lady in the red dress would like it. We’ve got to see your paddle though.”

The shaking in Clarke’s leg has returned and she’s itching to hoist the paddle again but it feels too heavy to lift. She can’t do it. Instead she hands the paddle back to Lexa, “no”, is all she says. 

Though she’s sure she whispered it, the sound must have echoed in the silence of the room anticipating her next action. A collective gasp engulfs the auction hall. The auctioneer is even taken aback and looks to Lexa for confirmation. A discreet nod from her is all he needs. “If there are no other bidders,” he pauses to look about the room, “Sold! Our bidder on the phone for $420,000! A hard won battle to close out tonight’s festivities. Have a wonderful night and be sure to stop at the Christie’s desk before you leave to make arrangements for your winnings.” The crowd cheers once again, congratulating each other as they clear the room.

Clarke and Lexa are two of the last few in the room, still seated in place. Clarke blurts into the silence, “I’m sorry. This just got to be too much. What would I do with it? There isn’t even a wall big enough in my apartment to hang it. I just…” She lets out a heavy sigh, in regret or relief she probably can’t say. 

“It’s alright Clarke. The choice was entirely up to you and I’m really impressed actually. Not that you have anything to prove, but your heart shows no sign of weakness. I hope you had fun at least.” Their fingers are entwined and shoulders are one, leaning into each other. 

“I feel like my blood pressure is through the roof, but it was so exciting I thought I might actually be dreaming. I was just in a high stakes bidding war. This is insane,” she says, eyes unfocused and looking ahead at nothing in particular.

“Well it was pretty thrilling. I think you had the rapt attention of the entire room,” Lexa laughs. Clarke lets out a chuckle at that, still unbelieving what just transpired. “Why don’t we get everything settled and get out of here?”

Clarke nudges into her shoulder, “Sure.” 

As they walk out of the room sporting matching grins, Clarke is enveloped in one of Gustus’ hugs. Her feet actually leaving the ground with the bear hug. “That was wonderful Clarke,” he exclaims. 

The “congratulations” don’t end there. As they’re standing in line to check out, a number of people stop to wish them well and thank them for an exciting and dramatic end to the night. 

Once they’re finally at the table, the woman at the computer greets them and takes the number thirteen paddle. “Ms Woods, thank you so much for your donations. I see your Kiefer painting did exceptionally well. Another successful fundraiser in the books,” she says as she punches the keys.

Before Lexa is able to respond, Clarke has grabbed her arm to twist her and force them face to face. “Did I hear that right?” The question not so subtly sounds like an accusation. “Did you just almost let me spend half a million of your own dollars to buy a painting you already own?”

The woman at the table cringes and busies herself with whatever may or may not be happening on her computer screen. 

“Ok, listen,” Lexa’s hands are up in surrender. “I meant it when I said I knew how much it was worth. If you wanted it, I wanted you to have it. I would’ve been happy to just give it to you, but the fact remains that I donated it months ago for just this purpose. To be auctioned to the highest bidder, no matter who it was, for as much as they would spend on it.”

“I really, _really_ want to be mad at you,” she levels her eyes at the brunette, “but I just can’t bring myself to be. You’re off the hook this time Lexa.” She leans her body into her again and Lexa encircles her waist.

“Thank you.” 

Their attention is pulled away from each other as the woman at the computer interrupts them, having finally found the right time move forward with the transaction. “Please sign here Ms Woods and indicate for each item if you would like to take the items with you tonight or have them delivered.”

Lexa opts for delivery for all but one item, which they receive only moments after the woman enters them into the computer. The small package is delicately wrapped and ready to go. 

They say their final goodbyes to everyone as they head out. Nyko is waiting by the car and opens the back door of the limousine for Clarke as they approach. Lexa helps her in before following as Clarke scoots toward the center of the bench seat. They both thank Nyko before shutting the door, ready to head home. 

“Are you sure you just want to head back to the house? We could get a drink or go dancing, anything you’d like.”

Clarke weighs her options for barely a second, “Why don’t you make me a drink at home?” There’s a suggestiveness in her voice that Lexa doesn’t miss. They share a smirk and enjoy the ride home.

//

By the time they make it inside, Clarke is reluctant to let go of Lexa’s hand. A realization hitting her that they’ve been touching in some way or another since before dinner. Lexa leads her up to the study with tentative glances and a firm hold. Once in the room, they wordlessly get to work. Lexa, mixing drinks from the cart of expensive liquors and Clarke selecting the music. She finds that Lexa’s music collection seems to consist of only jazz music and opts for the radio instead. 

“Dangerous Woman” by Ariana Grande starts playing because of course.

Clarke is swaying her hips almost sinfully and Lexa can’t take her eyes off of her. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Yes,” she says bashfully, “but you can tell me again,” Clarke replies as she steps toward her. 

“You’re wearing that dress like you’re doing it a favor.” They’re close enough now that Lexa’s hands instinctively reach for the blushing girl’s waist. 

“Flatterer,” Clarke accuses.

“I would really like to kiss you, Clarke. If that’s alright?”

Clarke only realizes that she’s been staring at Lexa lips when she has to snap her eyes up to look into Lexa’s emerald stare. Their eyes travel back to lips as each wet their own. Clarke finally breathes out, “What are you waiting for?”

Lexa lets out a shuddering breath before surging forward to capture Clarke’s eagerly awaiting lips. 

“Take me to bed.”

In a fluid motion as is usually reserved for fanfiction, Lexa picks her up and Clarke’s ankles hook behind her back, never breaking the kiss. Before she knows it Lexa has made it up the stairs with ease and gently sets Clarke back on her feet. They stand at the edge of Lexa’s bed and the air is charged and heavy between them. Clarke walks her back a step and the brunette sits on the edge of the bed. The blonde starts slowly untying Lexa’s tie while she’s looking up at her, eyes gleaming from the city lights outside her window.

It was then, looking down at Lexa perched on the edge of her bed and looking at her like she’s the only thing she needed in the world that she _knew_. She knew she had fallen in love with this woman a thousand times before. 

“Lexa?” she breathes, her eyes flitting back and forth between Lexa’s.

“Yes, Clarke?” 

“Lexa, is it you?”

“Yes, I’m here, babe. It’s me, I’m here.” She stands and brings her hands up to Clarke’s face, then lowers one to cover the blonde’s heart. Grabbing Clarke’s wrist with the other, she placing her hand on her own heart. “Oh god, it’s me. Do you see me?” 

Tears well in both of their eyes, but Clarke is the first to brush her lover’s away. “I see you. Fuck, I see you.”

Lexa’s eyes screw shut and more tears fall from her eyes. “I missed you so much,” is all she can say.

“I see you now. I’m sorry it took me so long, but I see you,” she reassures her.

Clarke captures her lips gently and they sink into the kiss. Recognition of her soulmate sweetening the moment until it grows wanton again. 

They got lost in a night of need; for each other and a need to make up for lost time. It’s all slow undressing, gazing into each others’ eyes, and ragged breaths.

// 

Clarke didn’t sleep much. She was to afraid if shut her eyes too long she’d lose Lexa again. She just got her back and that just wouldn’t do. Lexa, on the other hand, was thoroughly exhausted. 

The rising sun creeps through the window blinds, casting shadows across their bodies. Clarke is curled into the nook of Lexa’s shoulder with the bed sheet pooled near their waists. Clarke has spent the last ten minutes mapping Lexa’s bare skin, paying particular attention to her kraken tattoo. 

Her fingertips trace the lines of the masts billowed from the wind trying to escape the tentacles of the squid wrapping around and crushing the ship. 

“That tickles,” Lexa says without opening her eyes, but Clarke can hear the smile in her voice.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” Clarke says, finally getting it out. “I don't know why it always takes me so long to see you. You're always so patient. I can’t imagine-”

“I would wait forever,” Lexa turns onto her side so she can hold Clarke and snuggle away her guilt. “It's like living in a constant state of déjà vu. I couldn’t describe you if I tried, but as soon as I see you I just know. I've found my missing piece. You're always worth the wait.”

“I just wish we didn't have to waste so much time because of me.” 

“Sometimes, we’re children and sometimes were white haired old ladies before we meet. Besides, at least it’s not like last time when I spent six vacations visiting that beach in Australia with a faded photo trying to find you. Only to randomly bump into you at the Harry Potter Pub Crawl in Minneapolis. There’s no rhyme or reason no matter how hard I try. But we always find each other.” Lexa hooks her finger under Clarke’s chin to pull her out of hiding, “And how could I miss you when you’re dressed as Lindsay Lohan _as_ Hermione.”

“Oh, shut up!” Clarke makes a lame attempt to push her away. “I can’t believe you went as McGonagall. Though the green cloak was pretty striking.” If Lexa’s self-satisfied smirk is any indication, she knew she looked good too.

“Where do you think we’ll find each other next?”

“I don’t know.” Clarke can see Lexa running through possibilities in her head, caught in her musings. “Maybe you’ll be vet and come to help me out at my cattle ranch in Montana.” 

Clarke takes a moment to envision that scenario. “And you’ll kiss me under the light of the moon?” 

“Well, of course!” Lexa pulls Clarke in for a kiss, languid and cozy. As if struck by a thought, “Or maybe I’ll be a pizza delivery girl, dispatching tasty pies to a blonde bombshell!”

“Pizza delivery? That’s how I’m going to find my soulmate in my next lifetime?” Clarke seems unamused. 

“Hey, you’ll see me with that pizza and fall in love on the spot. I’m calling it right now.” Lexa challenges her with a devastating eyebrow and raised chin.

“Fine,” the idea grows on Clarke, “but until then we’re right here, right now and I don’t want to waste any more time.”

And so they didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it considered a slow burn if it took a million years for this fic to be completed?
> 
> I absolutely believe Clexa are soulmates, but I don't officially have plans to write other AUs with this version of soulmates/reincarnation - where Lexa knows at first sight but Clarke doesn't right off the bat. I do have several one shots planned though!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [@grapejuiceboobs](http://grapejuiceboobs.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Sweet Company Moodboard](http://grapejuiceboobs.tumblr.com/post/171711093696/sweet-company-read-it-on-a03-rated-m-completed)
> 
> [Check out my new one shot - The Girl in My Window!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13922211)


End file.
